By Sea, By Land
by 90TheGeneral09
Summary: Based off the 1990 film, covering its events and adding details on what happened on the island and why. When the cadets land on the island after their plane crashes into the ocean nearby, Jack finds a new kind of freedom on the island while Ralph tries to maintain the old order. Roger, meanwhile, finds out who he's been all along... but nothing goes like anyone expects.
1. Chapter 1- From the Sky to the Sea

**Chapter I- From the Sky to the Sea**

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**A/N: This is my 4th LOTF fanfiction; all have been based off the 1990 film. This one, like all the rest, focuses on Jack and Roger, but gives some definite attention to the others. This story covers the events of the 1990 movie itself, giving more details on what happened and why.**

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No one would ever know what brought the plane down; the sky above them and the ocean below had been almost an identical shade of blue, and there was hardly a cloud in the sky. Perfect weather for flying, as Captain Benson, the pilot, had noted as they taxied out for takeoff at the airport in Honolulu.

It couldn't have been the weather, but why had the plane flown for well over two hours without so much as a hiccup if mechanical failure was the problem? All Jack knew- all any of the boys knew- was that one minute they'd been napping, talking, or in Sam and Eric's case throwing paper cups at Tony from three seats back in the plane, and then the next, everything changed. Jack would describe it later- much later- as "it felt like God drop-kicked our tail". That was as well as anyone could put it.

All Jack knew was that he'd been leaned back in his seat, Roger also attempting a nap beside him, when the plane went into a screaming dive and the oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling. Captain Benson was shouting something over the intercom, but with the noise from the diving aircraft and the panicked screaming of the majority of the cadets, there wasn't a hope in the world of hearing it.

They'd been leveling out- or starting to- when the Learjet had struck the surface of the Pacific, cracking up the fuselage as it roughly skipped the surface before stopping. The heavy damage to the plane's fuselage was obvious; sunlight shone through gaps as the plane broke apart, and in seconds water rushed in and covered the floor. The rush of water soon became a flood, and Jack realised that if something wasn't done quick, every cadet onboard was going to a watery grave.

Most of the boys were panicking- it was about all they knew how to do in such moments. Some, hearing this about boys at a military academy, would have been surprised, even disappointed. But Jack, in one of his more insightful moments at the moment the plane hit the water, could have easily told such people they were badly mistaken. The cadets of Davidson were on the whole a cut above the average, but they were not trained soldiers. They were going to need _real_ leadership to get out of this one. Standing up in water now rising to his knees, Jack forced his way into the aisle and screamed, "Up! Get up! Get the hell out of here, let's go!" Seated further back, Ralph had unbuckled himself and joined in, saying, "We've gotta get out of the plane! Find and exit and swim!"

Roger simply grabbed boys and shoved them towards an exit point, whether it was one of the actual emergency exits or one of the widening holes in the rapidly-sinking plane. Jack bolted out across a submerged wing and swam just as fast as he could; it wasn't easy to do when everybody was wearing their cadet dress uniforms, the most constrictive of all the uniforms Davidson Military School issued. Jack kicked off his black dress shoes, briefly picturing them fall into the black-blue abyss far beneath him.

Better you than me, Jack thought. Better you than me.

Some part of Jack and Ralph's quick thinking worked, because in just a minute's time the ocean around the sinking airliner was frothing with the kicking legs and flailing arms of panicking boys. Many were shouting others' names, trying to see who'd made it out and who hadn't. Guessing that somebody- possibly more than one somebody- might still be inside the plane, Jack swam back towards it. He had to swim to get inside now, and his head was bumping the overhead lights as he looked for survivors.

Suddenly, an arm broke the surface of the water, down the aisle towards the cockpit. A moment later, Jack spotted a white uniform, and the face of the tall, dark-haired man that was their pilot. He was clearly disoriented, and struggling to stay above water- it occurred to Jack that he must have had quite a battle just getting out of the cockpit. There wasn't any time to waste; Jack swiftly swam over to Captain Benson and stuck out an arm. He yelled, "Grab on! We gotta go!"

But the pilot wasn't in any condition to hear him; he went right on thrashing around in the rising water. Jack knew he had just seconds to get the man out of the aircraft or they'd both go down with it. Grabbing hold of the pilot's shoulder, Jack wrapped one arm around him and pulled. To say it wasn't easy was a laughable exaggeration; the plane went under moments after Jack began pulling Benson out, and the strain of merely swimming at all became unbearable within seconds. Jack's heart started beating like a hummingbird's; if he didn't find an exit and get to the surface soon, he'd be a dead man. Or boy; dead was dead.

Forcing his eyes open under the water, Jack felt a surge of relief; the plane's nose section was pointing downwards, leaving the opening about twenty feet aft pointing upwards as it sank. Jack pushed and pulled, gradually getting closer to the surface; as he was close to exiting the sinking aircraft, he suddenly felt hands grabbing him, clinging to one of his arms and one of his legs. Panic shot through him; what was this? What was going on?

Jack's lungs were already screaming for air. He had never worried about dying before, not even when he'd crashed that car he'd stolen and nearly killed himself. This was worse- Jack loved taunting death but didn't want to be taken, not like this. The images he could see underwater were blurred, but Jack noticed the panicking, terrified young faces clinging to him were identical. It was those two, then- Sam and Eric.

The surface was just six feet away now. The swim Jack would make for that beautiful thing, that divide between air and water, was so close yet so far… that six feet might as well have been six miles. Keeping his arm locked with Captain Benson's, pulling his weight, was tough; now Jack was hauling the better part of four hundred pounds towards the surface of the Pacific Ocean. His lungs pounded; raw agony surged through Jack and in a panic he opened his mouth, sucking in water. Three feet. He had three feet to go now. Or was it four? Jack couldn't tell. He just kept going, struggling for the surface with the fading strength he had left. His legs were on fire, his lungs burned. Jack knew he wouldn't be doing any hard running tomorrow.

One foot. One damn foot! Jack kicked, or tried to, but he had no strength left. The twins clung to him frantically, so frozen in their terror they were ready to drown like rats rather than leave Jack, who each of them had decided was his only hope of survival. Captain Benson- well, oddly enough, he regained his senses for just one moment now, at a time when the boy who'd saved him was running out of options. Benson shook his head, looking around, and with one good, strong kick carried the lot of them to the surface.

Two emergency rafts had deployed from the sinking Learjet and shot to the surface, auto-inflating as they went. Now the cadets were in them, or swimming towards them and gradually being plucked from the water by their own comrades in the gray dress uniforms. The boys might have actually found it quite funny, had they not been so afraid of drowning and dying- riding the swells of the sea clustered in the rafts in their cadet grays, they looked for all the world like a group of rats clinging to a sinking ship.

Jack was disoriented, almost unconscious, when Captain Benson pulled him and the twins to the surface. The twins didn't change their approach at all then- they simply popped off Jack's legs and now clung to his shoulders, their jaws held tightly shut and their eyes wide open by raw terror. Jack's desperate quest for air now exploded; he opened his mouth and gasped, inhaling every bit of air that he could.

Then he coughed violently; water was in his lungs too, and it wasn't agreeing too well with the air that was supposed to be there. Jack's strength was gone now, for all it mattered; only Captain Benson was keeping any of them afloat now.

He looked towards the first raft, where he could see Ralph standing awkwardly on his feet and shouting for order. "Ralph," Jack tried to say, but he barely could talk above a whisper. A low wave slapped his head; Jack realised that soon, he'd go back under again and his whole fight for survival would mean nothing. He wasn't gonna die like that.

"Ralph!"

The Davidson Military School's battalion exec looked sharply off to his right, where he saw Jack, grimacing in pain, swimming towards the raft like a bullfrog. Not all of the water on his face was seawater; even at this distance, fifty feet away, Ralph could see sweat was literally raining off Jack's face. Ralph's eyes widened when he saw who Jack had with him; he'd somehow gotten both of the twins and their pilot, Captain Benson, out of the plane before it went under. Or maybe after. Ralph hadn't seen any of them after the crash, not after he'd gotten out of the plane. But regardless of how he'd gotten the others with him or why, it was obvious Jack was losing the battle. His head kept dipping low in the water, and his eyes rolled desperately in his head as he struggled to keep above the surface.

Ralph wasn't quite as skilled an athlete as the tall and lean Jack, but he was more than a match for most boys his age. And most importantly at the moment, he had used far less of his strength and energy in escaping from the sinking Learjet.

Ralph stumbled to the edge of the raft, shouting for the frightened cadets to get out of his way. Then he steadied himself, cast one more look at Jack and the others in the water, then leapt off the raft.

The ocean was for the most part calm; that alone saved many of the cadets' lives that day. Had the Pacific been rougher, had it been as merciless and stormy as it could be when a typhoon struck, not only Jack and everyone he was trying to rescue, but Ralph and perhaps all the cadets would have died in the water. It was a possibility Ralph tried hard to force out of his mind as he swam over to Jack and grabbed hold of him.

"Get the damn raft over here!" Ralph yelled, turning back towards the cadets he'd left behind him. Coming to their senses enough to respond, a few of them grabbed the attached oars and paddled over. Hands reached out, and one by one each of the four in the water was pulled aboard. Jack retched and vomited water; then he flipped over on his back and lay there, gasping like a beached fish.

The twins finally said something, wailing an utterly incoherent "Eeeee!" while Captain Benson simply passed out. Ralph steadied himself in the raft, and not just against the rocking of the waves; he had two oceans around him now, one of salt water and the other of panic. If he let either get him now more people than just Ralph Meyer would die. Unacceptable.

"Shut up, goddamnit! _Shut up_!" Ralph bellowed.

Everybody shut up.

Ralph stared around him, looking at the frightened faces of the boys and trying to make sense of the situation. But it was Jack, clapping a hand on Ralph's shoulder and sitting up, who actually asked one of the most pressing questions there was. Taking in air to speak, Jack's eyes darted about as he hung on to Ralph, not quite sure if he could sit up on his own yet. He spotted an island off to their left, and miles of ocean all around in every other direction. Even the island was at least a thousand yards off.

Jack spoke quietly, trying not to give away the deep, unmanning fear he now felt. "Where are we?"


	2. Chapter 2- The Island

**Chapter II- The Island**

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The entire event had taken a grand total of six minutes and thirty-two seconds. The Learjet diving from the sky for reasons unknown, the frantic escape from the plane and Jack's insane rescue of no less than three others who'd not have had a prayer otherwise… all of it had taken less than seven minutes. Ralph could scarcely believe it. They'd all almost died just now. Yet none of them had! It was a miracle. He laughed a little as the boys manning the oars paddled; nothing made you love life so much as knowing you had just come within a hair of losing it.

Jack, for his part, recovered with remarkable speed. Noticing the second raft had no one specific in charge of it, he told Ralph "Time for somebody to take command" and leapt off the first raft, right back into the water. Typical of himself, Jack had underestimated how fast he could recover his strength; he'd nearly drowned for a second time on his way over to the second raft. He made it, but just barely. Immediately, though, Jack made his presence known, and Ralph was grateful for how quickly the lead choir boy made the No. 2 raft fall in line behind his own.

"Lead on, Colonel!" Jack shouted, smiling roguishly from the middle of the other raft. "I wanna get a cheeseburger in paradise!"

Ralph smiled a little in return; Jack's humour was a great help right now. Anything was better than another panicked face- Ralph had no shortage of those.

Gradually, though, as all the younger boys realised the imminent danger of death had passed and the older ones recovered their senses- and desire to protect their macho reputations- order was restored on both rafts. At Ralph's direction, they struck out for the island soon after.

It took half an hour to reach the island; then, another ten minutes of paddling up and down its shores before they found a cove. More importantly, that cove had a picturesque, gently sloping beach. Jack's response was unsurprising; he lead his raft ashore like a swashbuckling Marine-turned-pirate. Ralph suppressed a laugh as Jack waded through the surf, no doubt thinking he looked like MacArthur; for a time perhaps he did. That is, until an unusually large wave swept in and knocked Jack flat on his ass. Then Ralph actually did laugh, though he was one of the only boys that dared as Jack scowled around, his glare saying, "_Nobody_ saw that".

Once Ralph's raft hit the beach and the boys all made their way ashore, though, Jack's brief display of bravado faded. Save for some bugs chattering and humming in the jungle, it was silent.

Where the hell _were_ they?

Ralph didn't have time to search for an answer. He had to keep these boys alive, and most importantly, make sure they really all were not dead. Raising his voice and calling for order a second time, Ralph called on the highest-ranking two he could see- Cadet Captain Roger Matthews and Jack, a Cadet First Lieutenant and choir leader- to help him get the boys in formation and call roll.

Roger and Jack knew each other well- both were good friends at Davidson, and Jack was Band Company second-in-command as well as choir leader. Jack was able to use his voice to craft pieces of audible art or to bully the other boys into doing what he wanted; here he did the second.

Roger spoke less and pushed more; he barked for the boys to fall in, kicking Tony in the pants when he felt they were moving too slow. Ralph appreciated the both of them responding promptly and working with him, but their harshness was unsettling. There wasn't time to waste on that now, though; as soon as the boys had formed two fairly straight line along the beach, Ralph barked, "Count- _off_!"

Each cadet knew the drill; it meant for them to each say a number, dropping to one knee one after the other. It would start with the last man in the first row and end with the first man in the second; when it was over, Ralph would automatically know how many cadets he had.

"One! Two!"

"Three!"

Four!"

On it went, until Roger and Jack barked an additional count for themselves. Twenty-one, not counting Captain Benson.

Jack, eager to get moving, said, "Where to, Colonel? We'd better get going, somewhere." The hesitance in his own voice was Jack's only indication that he, too, had little idea of what was going on or what to do about it. And one look at his eyes showed he was just as oblivious as to what this island was, or if it even had a name.

Ralph looked around him; this cove was as good a place to stop as any, and the rafts could be used as shelters, at least for the night.

"Get everything inland, just off the beach. We'll stay here tonight."

Jack sketched out a salute and moved in front of the waiting formation. "Fall out!"

As the boys started to break up again, Roger snapped, "I want those rafts ashore! Get it done _now_ or I'll have those little eggs you _call_ your balls for breakfast."

The younger boys sped to get the rafts fully on land; Ralph winced. Was this really necessary?

As he watched and directed them, though, Ralph found he had a hard time arguing with the boys' performance when Jack and Roger were helping to motivate them. They might not have understood good manners or tact, but those two knew how to get results. Interestingly, though, once the work was done and driftwood was gathered in the hopes of later starting a fire, Roger quieted down again and just did whatever Jack did. It was something Roger had seen before at Davidson; Roger seemed to have allied himself with Jack for some reason. And not just that; he seemed to ignore rank where Jack was concerned, willingly following the boy with the silvery-blonde hair and the louder, more forceful personality. Again, though, Ralph put it out of his mind. It was enough, for right now at least, that they were all still alive.

Nightfall came soon, and having found the wood too damp and not knowing how to make a fire, the boys gathered around some alien-green glowsticks somebody had found washed ashore in Captain Benson's flight bag.

The younger boys clearly outnumbered the older ones; that meant, in Ralph's mind at least, that the older boys were in charge whether they liked it or not. The smaller cadets were in many ways still just children; they were dependent on the older cadets, making them responsible for the younger boys' lives. It was a responsibility Ralph was fast realising he needed to take very seriously. Sure, you could joke all you liked at school, make fun of the cadet ranks and say none of it really mattered. But out here, how else could you keep order? What else was there to do?

Jack sat off to Ralph's left, unbuttoning his dress jacket to fight against the stifling heat. He was surprised at how many damn frogs were on the island; it seemed like the jungle around them was packed with the croaking amphibians. At home, one of Jack's favourite lines for a neighbour with an annoying, barking dog was to shout, "Shut those damn mutts up before I cook 'em and eat 'em!", and inevitably he'd have a good laugh at the neighbour's shocked response. His parents had not approved, needless to say, but Jack had a feeling that wouldn't work here. The frogs didn't have owners. In fact, odds were that if it had to be said who owned the island, the frogs were as likely a candidate as anybody. This was their island. Not if I'm here for long, Jack thought. I'll have something to say about _that_!

One of the younger boys, no older than twelve, was sitting beside Jack. He turned to the senior lieutenant, asking, "Sir, do you think there's anyone else here?"

Annoyed at having his thoughts interrupted, Jack didn't even bother to hide the ugly look he gave the younger cadet. "It's just an island. There's nothing here," Jack said, as if the answer should have been obvious.

"Jack, I gotta _pee_!" another of the smaller boys, Mikey, whined.

"I gotta _go_! I'm gonna crap my _pants_ if I can't sit down somewhere," another of the younger boys complained. Suddenly there was a chorusing of little cadets, all telling Jack how they needed to go to the bathroom and _soon_. For a moment, Jack wondered why the hell they were even asking. Then he vaguely recalled Roger telling the choir boys he didn't want to see anybody so much as shit or piss without Jack's say-so. Apparently they'd chosen to take his threatening remark seriously. Jack smiled a little at the thought; they'd made a good choice.

Pointing off to the line of trees at the edge of the jungle, Jack said, "Two at a time. Go and hope the tigers don't get you."

"Tigers?"

"They have tigers _here_?"

Laughing, the older boys in the choir told them to get going. Roger called after the first two, "And don't worry! They won't be interested in those worms you hide in your pants!"

Jack thought the whole thing was hilarious, but one look at Ralph's face said he disagreed. The two had known each other for a year or so at school now, so good relations held. Jack was effective at keeping people in line, and Ralph knew he needed somebody like that. But Jack loved being in charge, too; he'd been known to get into fierce arguments, even fistfights, with cadets much higher in rank.

When he thought somebody was wrong, Jack was unhesitant and blunt in telling them so. It had made him feared and charismatic among the cadets, but rarely was he loved. There seemed little space in Jack Merridew's heart for the love of others, anyway. If he had use for any part of that, it was their adoration, and even then just to soothe his own ego.

After the third pair of younger boys had headed off to go use the head, the questions came again, from the younger boys as before.

"I'm thirsty."

"Yeah, me too."

"Is there any water? Can we drink what's in the ocean?"

"Have you got any food?"

This latest question was directed at Jack, again from a younger boy off to his right. He shook his head, annoyed. Jack hadn't eaten in several hours; as a matter of fact, the last full meal any of them had gotten was breakfast that day. It seemed like a whole lifetime ago now.

"If I had any food," Jack sneered, "I'd be _eating_ it." This was starting to irritate him. Jack made a mental note to see to it that his choir boys figured out when it was time to shut up; he wasn't here to look out for the weak.

But Ralph, as always, was determined to be the more even leader. He wanted to rule with a guiding hand, rather than a firm, closed fist. To Jack the latter was the only way that really worked. Certainly it was if you wanted real discipline, real order. Counting how many idiots believed which way was the best was, in Jack's mind, the most stupid system in the world. Hearing tales of the iron fists with which the Nazis and Soviets had ruled their nations in history class, Jack had quickly become entranced. What he could do, given that kind of power, he could only imagine. But it was fun to think about it.

"We're all thirsty and we're all tired," Ralph said. "We're _all_ hungry. We should just try to get some sleep." Even Jack had to nod; he found nothing to disagree with there. It was the truth.

"And tomorrow we'll figure out what we're gonna do." Ralph added. The cadets headed off and found places to rest along the beach that night.

Jack, Roger and Ralph each stayed with a group of the younger cadets so if one of them woke up they'd hear it. It was a bitter disappointment to all of them that not one pillow or blanket had washed ashore. Everyone had to make do with resting on their own arm, or somebody's shoulder. They had no shelter, no hope of getting the kind of proper sleep they were used to. But that night, worn out and exhausted by the day's events, few of the cadets had any difficulty dropping off to sleep.

Tomorrow, they all knew, would be another story. More than a few boys, younger and older, were hoping that they wouldn't have to worry about tomorrow, because they'd all wake up and find the plane crash and everything after had been a dream. That was a hope most all of them shared.

One cadet stayed up, long after the others had all gone to sleep. He had a mess of curly brown hair, and blue eyes much like the waters of the Pacific. His mind was alert, always thinking; his insightfulness made him wise far beyond his thirteen years. His name was Simon, and he sat crouched near the tree where the others had placed Captain Benson, unsure of what else to do with him. His head was bandaged from a head injury he'd sustained in the crash, and he was sweating furiously in the tropical air. But not just from the heat and humidity; a fever of some kind had struck the pilot, and he muttered things in an uneasy sleep.

One word, repeated, reached Simon's attentive ears. "Water, water…"

Simon knew they were all going to need that real soon. He lay down for a few hours to get the rest he knew he'd need, but was up long before dawn, hiking off into the jungle. Simon did not pursue rank at school, and he always chose to forgo choosing sides whenever the boys around him started wanting to be leaders and followers. Simon headed off into the jungle, his thoughts occupied by the group's need for water that, if left unattended, would soon grow desperate. His was a special kind of quiet selflessness, the kind that really did place mankind before flags.


	3. Chapter 3- Explorations

**Chapter III- Explorations**

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Simon hiked over a mile into the jungle of the island the first morning after the crash; with its hills and valleys, beaches and coves, the island was a geographical wonder. Simon found himself starting to wish they wouldn't be rescued before he'd explored it all; this was no tiny island with one palm tree. It had the potential to teach far more than any of Davidson's science classes ever could.

Soon after that thought, though, came another- the sudden crash of the plane meant there'd been no time in which to send out a signal of their position. With startling certainty, Simon realised that nobody knew they were here- nobody at all. He'd have all the time in the world to explore the island; that and then some. The group would be lucky if rescue came at all.

Simon loved being alone with nature; born to a troubled home with bickering parents, he'd soon learned to content himself with long walks in the woods behind his house while his parents argued about everything and nothing. Time spent alone in the woods of this island brought him great peace.

His search for water was almost forgotten amidst all these other thoughts, but not entirely. After crossing over a small hill some two miles from the cove where the group had landed, Simon heard the steady trickle of water from a stream, one leading downhill to the foot of what looked like the island's most startling feature- a small mountain. As he got nearer, Simon spotted what he'd been looking for- a large pool of water, far enough inland that it had to be formed from rainwater and runoff from the mountain. Stopping to cup his hands in the cool water, Simon smiled a little as he started to drink. Already, things were looking up. Even if the cadets really were alone on this island, there had to be a way they could make things work until rescue came. Things could have been far worse than this.

An hour after dawn, Simon hiked back to the cove, impressing himself with how well he retraced his own steps, even in such untamed wilderness. He took care to step lightly as he made his way past sleeping cadets; it was little surprise they should all still be asleep. Finally, he found Ralph, taking care not to shake his left arm, still encased in a cast. Ralph grumbled something unintelligible and lay down after a moment, so Simon shook him again. The senior cadet sat up one more time, blinking and looking none too pleased. He knew he was probably going to end up being in charge of all this, but he'd been hoping one decent night's sleep would be permitted him. His attitude changed quickly when he heard Simon's words, though:

"Sir, I found water."

In just ten minutes' time everybody was up, and even Jack eagerly followed Simon as he led the way back into the jungle, retracting his steps yet again and locating the pool once more. Jack let out a whoop as he caught sight of it, and the cry went up, soon becoming a chant: "Water, water!" The cadets hurried to the pool, each eagerly cupping his hands at the water's edge and drinking every bit they could. Simon took only a little more, then just stood back and watched. He'd done his good deed for the day.

The island was big; real big. It was such an obvious statement to make, especially if someone saw the island from the air. But just how big it was, even within its own borders with the ocean, was breathtaking. It had its own peaks and valleys, its own creeks and pools; there was even a small river, running with fresh water. Jack took a group of cadets with him in making an exploration of the island, soon emerging from the jungle to a grassy plain above a cliff, the deep blue of the Pacific stretching off into forever off to their right.

The group following Jack was almost entirely cadets of senior rank, save for Andy, who was a Private First Class, and another boy who was a buck Sergeant- Pablo. Roger, Jack and Ralph were the three highest-ranking boys from the plane; as they pushed on through the tall grass, Jack made an amused remark about having too many chiefs.

Finally, the grassy field reached its end. From where they stood, the boys could see more than one peak, covered in green foliage, stretching off into the distance. It looked like some of the more remote sections might not be reachable anytime soon, if at all. A person who stumbled off too far might spend days trying to find his way back out again.

Jack sighed, turning to Ralph. "Well, that's it, Colonel," he said. They'd gone about as far as they could for now.

Ralph elected to return to the beach, keeping watch over the boys staying at the cove, as well as the ill Captain Benson. Jack, taking the others who'd been with him back into the jungle, was unsurprised to see one of the new boys, a pudgy kid with spectacles whose name he could not remember, staying behind as well. Jack snorted derisively as he reached the jungle's edge, looking back at the bespectacled cadet, who was saying something to Ralph.

"What's that, Jack?" Roger asked curiously.

Jack shrugged, but decided to point back towards the beach. "See that fat kid talking to Ralph?"

Roger and the other boys looked, nodding after a moment. "Yeah," Roger said.

Jack turned to Roger, smirking. "How long you think _he's_ gonna last here?"

Roger and the other boys laughed and headed off into the jungle. Maybe if they didn't find anything to eat they could eat the fat kid.

As it happened, groups of cadets sent out into the jungle located trees bearing fruit, and in short order began stripping every one they could reach. Jack's party surprised a wild boar, and with a startled squeal it burst from cover, its dark form soon vanishing back into the jungle. Jack, almost as surprised as the boar had been, stared after it. He committed sighting the boar to memory; there would be a need for hunting soon.

Not long after, though, Jack's group stopped their progress into the jungle, each boy's ears picking up at the sound. Something was making noise back on the beach; it was coming from back at the cove where they'd landed. Roger frowned, looking back towards the sound. "Is that a horn?"

Ralph and the bespectacled boy didn't have to wait long; cadets were soon trickling and then streaming back out of the jungle, drawn to the sound of the conch. It took about ten minutes for most of them to arrive; once he could see he had nearly everyone gathered, Ralph held up the conch the other boy had found.

"Okay- whoever has the conch gets to speak. That's the rule."

One of the younger boys put up a hand. "Is this like assembly, sir?"

Roger nodded. "Yeah. Except anybody who wants to speak gets to."

"But not before they get the conch," the pudgy boy added.

Ralph nodded again. "Right."

Moving on to a more important matter at hand, Ralph began, "There doesn't seem to be anybody here except us."

"And a pig." Jack cut in. He'd thrown his dress jacket away somewhere and stood with one bare arm on Roger's shoulder. He looked like a surfer kid in cadet pants. With the way Jack was, it was probably a look he was already aware of, and working hard to perfect.

Andy nodded at Jack's comment. "I saw it, it was a wild boar!"

Pablo, the Cadet Sergeant who'd been with Jack's search party shook his head, saying, "No, it was a regular pig. Big, but regular."

The pudgy boy said, "Well, if it was a regular pig then it must've got here from people."

Andy, one of the only dark-skinned boys in the group, nodded confidently. "Yeah! If there's pigs, there's people."

Somebody oinked.

Over the ensuing laughter, Ralph said, "Okay, cadets. Like I said; this island's probably uninhabited."

"But we don't know for sure!" Jack said. "How do we know? We've gotta explore more."

He brushed at his finely-combed blonde hair as he spoke; both he and Roger, quite vain and fond of their own appearances, were known to spend a surprising amount of time each day making sure they looked their best.

Ralph nodded, giving Jack that one. "Right. There's a lotta things we gotta do. But the main thing is, we're not by ourselves. We got Captain Benson."

Jack shook his head. The man was a goner, but if Ralph wanted to talk about it like that mattered, fine. Jack was gonna concentrate on the living.

The fat boy with the glasses raised his hand. "Can I speak?" Ralph, standing close by to the boy's right, handed him the sea-shell.

"The most important thing is… who knows we're here?" the boy asked. "_Nobody_ knows we're here!"

"They know where we were _going_, but nobody knows where we are because we never _got_ where we were going."

One of the boys gathered in the circle asked, "Where were we going?"

"We were going _home_," the pudgy boy said, and it was clear he wished they'd made it.

Jack shook his head, laughing. "No, we were going to _Japan_! _Remember_, dumbass?" His voice taking on a very vain tone, the tall, lean teenager went on, "_I_ was going to awe the girls at that Japanese military school with the sound of my beautiful voice." He paused, smirking. "And maybe the boys, too."

"Fuckin' homo," somebody said, but Jack just shrugged it off with a sly grin. "Everybody wants to get some of Jack Merridew."

Ralph thought Jack's version of the story a little inaccurate, to say the least- they _had_ been going to Japan to perform before a Japanese military academy, but it wasn't purely so Jack could get in a Japanese girl's pants. Ralph thought the possibility unlikely anyway; Jack was a superb singer and still had his Plebe Knowledge memorized- as a matter of fact he was working on memorizing it in French. But other countries meant other cultures, and not all of them were going to be impressed by a bony, arrogant American who thought himself the sexiest boy alive. Not favourably. But none of that occurred to Jack; he was a legend in his own mind.

Captain Benson, lying in the shade beneath a nearby tree, turned over then, groaning in a fitful, troubled sleep.

Moving on, Ralph said, "I'm sure they're out looking for us. We should set up some kind of steady signal, like a fire, and keep it going all the time. And we're gonna have to have rules."

The pilot went into a fit of coughs; everybody looked at him, unsure of what to do. Simon, standing nearby, patted the man on the back until he quieted down. Sympathy was all they had to offer.

In the quiet, Jack walked over and stood beside Ralph. "Can I have the conch?" When it was placed in his hands, Jack nodded. "Ralph's right. We've definitely got to make a fire."

A small boy with mousy, sandy-blonde hair spoke up. "Sir! Are you the leader?"

Roger nodded in affirmation, speaking up for the only time that meeting. "Jack's the oldest," he said, as if that settled everything.

The tan-skinned Cadet Sergeant replied, "But Ralph's the Colonel!"

This was true, but not everybody there wanted to acknowledge it. Roger glared at the boy for a moment before looking over towards Ralph and Jack.

"Yeah, Ralph's got the rank!"

"I think it should be Ralph."

"He's the Colonel!"

Enough 'votes' were cast that Jack smiled a little, conceding defeat. He was impressed, when he thought back on it later, how easily he'd concealed his annoyance. Jack hated being outranked by anybody, and it was bothersome for rank to follow him here.

But Jack hid all that. With a smile, he shrugged to Ralph. "I guess you just won the election."

Ralph, if he was pleased at this victory, did well in hiding it. He simply said, "It doesn't matter who's in charge. We've just gotta work together. First, we build a camp."

As the assembly ended, Jack turned to Roger as the two gathered a group to go find branches and sticks from which to construct the frames for shelters. "Did you _see_ him, the wiseass bastard?" Jack hissed. "I bet he was just laughing the whole time. Laughing at _me_!" Jack had to keep his voice down, as it kept rising whenever he got angry. The more he thought about it the more ticked off he got. He should have been running this whole thing. Nearly all these boys were in the choir, and all were in the band except Ralph. Who else should be in charge but Jack?

Roger, as he always did, knew just what to say to his friend. "You'll get your chance, boss. You'll see." Jack smiled, calmed into letting the issue drop. It was funny; Roger outranked him as company commander, yet that never once bothered Jack. Because Roger, recognizing Jack's iron will and fiery temper, had almost from the start allowed Jack to lead. It was like Roger had seen some sign of great charisma, great brilliance in Jack, and without hesitation handed over his sword to the superior man, content to serve him instead. It was a chain of events Jack wanted everyone to learn to emulate.


	4. Chapter 4- Meeting Piggy

**Chapter IV- Meeting Piggy**

* * *

The boys with Jack achieved results quickly, as they almost always did. Under Roger's sharp, watchful eye, they found some twenty branches and sticks large enough to use, brought them back to the camp, and improvised other items and plants found in the jungle to use as rope. The work progressed with remarkable speed; Jack figured they could soon try out things to use as covers for the wooden frames; the big plants with their wide, tropical leaves seemed the most logical choice.

Tony got up in a nearby tree, plucking at various fruit-bearing plants within reach and eating the ones he liked. The pudgy boy with the glasses walked over, staring up at Tony with his hands on his hips. "Be careful up there!" he called. "There's probably a lot of things that look okay, but are poisonous!"

Tony ran a hand over his black hair, chomping down on a handful of berries he'd just taken off a tree. "I know what's poisonous or not", he said casually. Reaching out his skinny arms again, Tony grabbed what looked like a passion fruit and bit into it. Whatever it was, it was good.

"My brother did BUD/S and all the big survival schools. They teach you what's poisonous, what's good- and he came home a few times and taught me."

The pudgy boy didn't give an inch of ground, though. "Did he do survival school in the tropics?"

Up in the tree, Tony shrugged. "I dunno." How did he know where all those schools were? His brother had said a couple of them, the instructors had made even getting there a test. You had to find the school yourself.

"Well, I know BUD/S is in California!" the pudgy boy said. "There's totally different plants in California, than in this place! So we gotta take precautions, or it won't matter."

Jack was up on Roger's shoulders now, sitting there and snapping off some useful-looking branches from a low-hanging tree. He looked over at the boy with the glasses now. "What won't matter?" Vaguely, Jack remembered this boy had spoken up at the clearing. How had he forgotten to bully him around a bit before the trip? This kid had to be new, and new kids learned their place at Davidson. Boys like Jack made sure of it.

"Once we get rescued." The boy said in response.

Jack just shook his head as he went back to work on a wooden tent-frame. "You better start learnin' to live with yourself, because we _ain't_ gonna get rescued."

The fat boy squinted at Jack through his glasses. "What're you _talkin'_ about?"

Inwardly, Jack nodded again. Yep. This kid had definitely not had his ass kicked enough times. Not yet. But Jack kept the conversation civil; he liked playing games with the lower classes. In Jack's mind, "lower classes" wasn't just people less rich than him, though there were a lot of them. No, in Jack's mind, the "lower classes" were people simply inferior in one or more ways to Jack. That included just about everybody.

Jack shrugged as if the answer to the fat boy's question as obvious. "Just being logical. A plane goes down in the middle of the ocean, there's no wreckage; who's gonna find us?"

Now the pudgy boy was angry. This kind of talk was gonna destroy the group's morale; even somebody as new to military school as him could see that. And Jack was an officer! He was supposed to be better than that. "Why don't you just shut up?" the boy said, not bothering with subtlety.

Jack laughed and looked to the pudgy kid, incredulous. "Are you telling _me_ to shut up?" The very tone of Jack's voice said the boy had absolutely no business doing so.

But the fat kid held his ground. He had a backbone, Jack had to give him that. That, at least, set him above the dozens of whiny new kids Jack seemed to meet in a day. What was he, their damn babysitter? But this one had some guts. He retorted, "What we need around here is positive people. Not people trying to scare people!"

Jack laughed again. He thought the whole thing was hilarious. "What we don't need around here is _you_, shitbrain!"

Sam chimed in then. "His name's not shitbrain."

Then both the twins said, "It's Piggy!"

Jack grinned; that was exactly the name he was looking for. "Yeah!" he cried, slapping palms with the twins. Roger just grinned wolfishly at the fat boy, and briefly the latter had an image of a teenage boy so utterly insane, so raving mad, he'd eat another kid for dinner just to find out how it tasted. Piggy, for that was his name ever since he'd come to the Davidson Military School, turned away. The encounter no longer made him angry, but merely saddened him. Couldn't any of those boys see he was just trying to help?

"Shut up!" Ralph barked, appearing on the scene. "Everybody just shut up!"

Jack just shrugged and went back to his work, the others following suit. Taking Piggy away from them, Ralph tried to soften the blow of the moment. "It's just 'cause you're new."

But the fat boy wasn't fooled. "No, it's not. They've always called me names like that."

A riotous outburst of laughter followed his words; Jack and his group could still hear them and thought the whole thing very funny. Now Ralph started to really get angry. "Everybody just shut up, okay?"

For the second time, Jack just shrugged, as if to say "Whatever, man." An hour later Jack had essentially forgotten the whole thing. It wasn't like he cared if some fat kid's feelings got hurt. What was he now, somebody's mother? No. If someone wanted kindness and caring at Davidson, they could go see some bleeding-heart sap like Ralph. Jack had _real_ work to do.


	5. Chapter 5- Fire on the Mountain

**Chapter V- Fire On The Mountain**

* * *

Jack led a group of close to ten boys up the hill again, back to the field of tall grass under the open sky. He loved it out here; away from the school, the cops- any force of adult authority- Jack felt truly free. As they marched under the sun, Jack smiled as he felt the heat on his bare back. The girls were gonna love the tan he'd have when he got home.

Raising his voice, Jack started calling out cadence. "Mama, mama, can't you see?"

"Momma, Momma, can't you see?" the boys in the file behind him all echoed.

"What the Army's done to me!" Jack called, and again the boys echoed him.

Jack had found a good walking stick, prodding it into the tall grass as he made his way along. "I used to drive a Cadillac!"

"I used to drive a Cadillac!"

Jack sang the next line, "Now I'm marching with my pack!"

"I used to drive a Chevrolet! Now I'm marching for my pay!"

As they reached the top of the hill where a lone tree stood and the grass was not as tall, Jack sang, "They took away my TV!"

"Got me doin' RT!"

Once there, the boys all dumped their loads of wood and a pile was built from it. Ralph was called up the hill soon after, followed by a handful of tag-alongs… including Piggy.

Getting the fire started proved difficult. Jack worked at it this way and that way, but wasn't having much luck. "Come on, let me try it!" Ralph said.

"I got it, I got it!" Jack said, irritated. He went on working, trying all the things he'd heard you did in the Boy Scouts. Now he wished he'd paid more attention before his Troop Master threw him out.

Nothing seemed to be working. "Shit! _Damn_!" Jack swore with increasing anger. He was starting to get flushed in his face; he felt like an idiot, and if Jack ever was made to feel like a fool in front of other people, somebody had to pay for it. Even if it was his fault- perhaps, especially if it was his fault. It wasn't like Jack was gonna admit he didn't know what he was doing. Not in front of these dorks.

One of the sticks Jack was working with snapped off in his hand. Almost screaming, Jack swore again. "_Mother_fu-"

"Swearing won't help." The fat boy said simply.

Jack's mouth flattened into a line. _That does it_.

Jumping up, Jack shot both arms out and shoved Piggy hard. "Listen, _Piggy_- shut your fat ass; I'll _fuck_ you up!"

Jack's temper flared like the fire they were trying to light; he wasn't just mad anymore. He was pissed. This kid was threatening to humiliate him, and in front of a whole crowd of witnesses. _Nobody_ did that to Jack Merridew.

The fact that pretty much all of this existed in Jack's mind and there alone never occurred to him. Jack was so set on defending his macho pride, on besting everyone at everything, that if somebody questioned him or anything he did in front of even one other person, Jack was convinced at once they were trying to embarrass him. Piggy had no love for the choir leader, but where this anger was coming from, as the supposed cause of it he could hardly say.

Ralph had known Jack in some form or another since he'd arrived at Davidson, and he knew that Jack's great intelligence, his charisma and ability, were the reason he'd achieved First Lieutenant rank close to the end of his first year. It was May, in fact- the end had been almost there for all of them. But Ralph knew that Jack had a temper, and when it got going he could be very hard to stop. Jack was gearing up, preparing himself to shove Piggy clear off the hilltop, and only Ralph's ability to see all that kept it from happening.

Getting between them, Ralph held out his hands to Jack, who ran right into them as he pursued Piggy. "Jack." Ralph said quietly, and Jack fumed as he stared right past Ralph at Piggy.

"What?"

"Just give me a second here, okay? Just give me a minute; I gotta work on this."

Jack glared at the fat boy ahead of him, but finally the angry spark went out of his eyes. He threw his hands up and walked back to the stack of wood. "Whatever. Do what you gotta do, sir." Ralph smiled inwardly; for some reason, he was one of the only people in the Corps Jack routinely listened to. It wasn't an easy thing to achieve; Ralph was thankful he'd won Jack's respect in whatever way Jack required, because he didn't need his cadets fighting each other. Not here, where such a fight could do some real damage and no infirmary existed to clean up the mess.

Turning to Piggy, Ralph started to say something, but stopped short. His eyes had landed on Piggy's thick glasses.

"Hey… wait a minute. Piggy, give me your glasses."

As Ralph reached out for them, Piggy slapped at his arm. "Hey, give 'em back!"

"Or _what_, dork?" Jack shot back from where he stood.

Before the two could begin arguing again, before the fight could start, Ralph said, "Guys! Just trust me." Everyone quieted down and watched as Ralph knelt by the base of the woodpile.

For half a minute, nothing. Ralph shifted so the sun shone down through Piggy's glasses, and through them right at one spot in the wood. Suddenly, a few small flames flared into life, and as they caught on the dry wood, Jack whooped and hollered. "Fire! Hooyah, fire!" The others took up the cry, and soon joined Jack in chanting and dancing around the woodpile. Some of them took up Indian war cries, and as Jack passed Piggy, who along with Ralph just stood and watched, he gave Piggy a light, friendly push. No hard feelings, right? That's what the look said. Piggy wasn't so sure he meant it. Jack had gotten real mean, real fast. Why was he like that?

Suddenly, one of the cries of savage joy turned to surprise. "Jesus, it's spreading!"

Jack jumped back as the fire burned out onto the grass, threatening to scorch his feet. "Shit!"

"Beat it back!" somebody cried. "Use your jackets!"

The few boys who were still wearing their dress jackets threw them off and started smacking them against the flames, but soon gave up the effort. They all retreated to a safe distance and watched as the lone tree, standing atop the hill, was consumed by the flames.

Before long it became obvious the fire didn't want to stay where it was; even ten and then fifteen feet from the tree, it spread hungrily into the grass. Jack and Ralph hastily organised a line of cadets with branches and jackets, whacking away and beating down the flames. If they lost control of this fire now, it might never stop. The whole island was filled with things that could burn, and all of it was dry enough to do it right now.

It wasn't until an hour later that it finally died down. Jack and a few other boys went down the hill and came back with another stack of wood, this one smaller- the fire had taken the best logs they'd been able to round up. But by nightfall, Ralph had his signal fire.

Gathered around the fire that night, a Jack told one of his favourite scary stories to a group of cadets. It wasn't a ghost story, but a pretty good one nonetheless.

"The forest was totally dark," Jack began. "But he had to keep going, because the Thing was behind him. The pus was everywhere; he could feel it. And all the while, the Thing behind him kept coming closer. And then, suddenly, he realised it wasn't any kind of normal plants or bushes he was trying to run through, touching his arms and face."

Jack had everyone's attention; not a sound could be heard but the frogs croaking in the distance. "Raising his hands and shaping them into claws, Jack said, "It was thousands of claws, long claws- grasping at him! Trying to stop him, and hold him for the Thing. And he tried to get away, but they held on, choking him!"

"He tries to scream! Aaaah!"

"Aaah!" Andy screamed back, startled.

This proved too much for one of the younger boys sitting next to Piggy. He sniffled, trying to hold back tears. Piggy turned to him, saying softly, "It's just a story; it's not real."

Jack just sighed and rolled his eyes, looking off towards the stars. These idiots didn't know a good thing when they saw it.


	6. Chapter 6- Thinking About Tomorrow

**Chapter VI- Thinking About Tomorrow**

* * *

"I don't know if they can hold up. I mean, what if somebody gets sick?" Ralph, realistic and rational as ever, was frowning in concentration as he walked along the sunny stretch of beach. It was their second full day on the island; Ralph knew they had some real concerns to think about, so he'd gone for a walk with Jack. The kid was smart, if arrogant and hot-tempered. If given the proper role, he could be a real asset. And besides, he was as close a thing Ralph had here to a friend.

Jack, of course, was true to his usual way of looking at things. "Man, you gotta stop worrying so much." he said, his voice showing how happy he felt. "We got it made! No parents, no teachers, no academy- no _girls_!"

Jack grinned roguishly. "Of course, I wouldn't mind getting a _little_ now and then."

Ralph laughed, scoffing. "Like _you_ ever got any."

Jack laughed this off; it was a joke that had somehow come up between them. Tales of Jack's exploits on that front had made him famous at Davidson, where sexual conquest was seen by cadets as a key step towards achieving true manhood. By that standard, Jack was well into his forties. Of course, at any boarding school, especially military school, tales are typically one thing and the truth behind them quite another. But sometimes, once in a while, there were exceptions, with whom the tales and truth were much alike. Jack was one of those exceptions.

But he went along with the joke when he replied, "Well… I still wouldn't mind."

They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments. Then Ralph said, "That was real brave, what you did."

Jack stared at Ralph. "Huh?"

"You dove back into the plane like that. Captain Benson and the twins wouldn't have got out of there if it wasn't for you."

Ralph's eyes shone with admiration; he'd never seen such reckless, stupid, or awe-inspiring courage in his life as he had on the day Jack had risked his own, diving back inside the sinking plane. It made Ralph very much question the selfish, egotistical image Jack projected. But would he even let anyone _tell_ him that? Jack didn't seem to want to even believe he was any kind of hero potential. The idea seemed repulsive to him.

Jack's face turned crimson in the midday sun, and he suddenly cleared his throat and stared off into the water. He appeared intensely embarrassed; Ralph had been right in believing Jack didn't like hearing such things. He seemed so set on living fast and hard and taking nothing too seriously, that when he messed up and did something admirable it just baffled him.

Ralph tried another question, though he knew he was probably pushing his luck. Jack didn't like staying on any serious subject for long, especially not something like this. "Well, why'd you do it? You could've just got out when the rest of us did."

The blonde shrugged, looking very uncomfortable with the subject. "I dunno." He said, honestly. He had no idea why he'd done any of that. It had been a damn stupid thing to do; it had almost gotten him killed. Why had he done that? Why was it that people could do such horrible and such selfless things, never having an explanation as to why?

Looking at Jack as they walked along the beach, Ralph felt like he was looking at the human race in miniature. Such capacity for kindness and courage, and an equally unlimited ability to torment and destroy. What way Jack would ultimately go in life, no one could say just yet.

But he had such potential and charisma, at times it made Ralph doubt his own. Jack could go either way, and vaguely Ralph felt a tremor of fear, in spite of the good mood of the moment. If Jack decided to take a darker path… Ralph worried for the people who stood in his way.

But what if Ralph stood in Jack's way? What _then_?

But such serious moments cannot last forever among teenage boys, and someone like Jack could be trusted to make sure of that.

Jack slowed his step a moment, waiting until he had a good shot at the back of Ralph's left knee. He kicked, and Ralph fell over, exclaiming in surprise. Jack laughed… until Ralph shot out a leg and knocked Jack off balance, making him fall into the surf.

Jumping up again, Jack struck out with both hands. Ralph fell on his left arm, still held in a sling and cast. He grimaced. "Oh, my arm!"

"Hey, man- you okay?" Jack approached, his face written with concern. Then Ralph struck out and knocked the blonde over again. "Syke!"

An hour later, Jack and Ralph made their way through the jungle, hoping to catch sight of the pig. Jack carried his pocket knife in hand, wearing only the cut-off remains of his DMS dress pants. The knife was so sharp you could barely see the edge; when Jack had decided to make summer shorts of his gray dress pants, the knife had made short work of them.

A rustling in the bushes, up ahead- the pig! Squealing, it darted from cover just as before. "Damn!" Jack said as it fled. He looked back to Ralph as he gave up pursuit. "Next time."

"Are you telling the truth?" Tony asked, his tone skeptical.

Simon nodded. "Yeah. It's true."

The twins were less certain. "We don't believe you!" Sam said.

"Yeah, you're lying!" Eric added.

A shadow fell over them. It was the pilot, Captain Benson! Looking down at them, he frowned, puzzled. "Why aren't you guys packed?"

"Sir, is it really true?" Tony asked.

"You bet it is, fellas," the pilot said, his tone leaving no doubt. "Simon's right. Get your things together, fellas- we're goin' home."

Simon suddenly sat up in the dark, looking around him. He could make out the outlines of the cove, see the waves gently crashing in and rolling back out again on the beach. None of it had been real.

"Tomorrow, maybe," Simon murmured, turning over and going back to sleep. _Tomorrow, I hope._


	7. Chapter 7- Playing Games

**Chapter VII- Playing Games**

* * *

By noon on the third day, the situation for the airline pilot was grim. Captain Benson was groaning, thrashing around- he was probably delirious as well. He was running a high fever, and beyond leaving him in the shade there was nothing anybody could do about it. Ralph found Mikey and two other young cadets standing over him, staring down with a mixture of horror and fascination. "Come on, you guys! Beat it! Why aren't you getting food or wood?" Ralph cried, rushing over to them. He and Piggy stood over the ill pilot in silence. What could they do?

Less than two miles away, though, the situation was very different. Jack and some ten others were back at the large inland pool, delighting in the chance to go swimming in its cool waters as well as drink them. Taking the privilege of going first, Jack unbuckled his belt and dropped his uniform 'shorts'. As he started to strip off his underwear, one of the boys nearby said, "Sir- we gotta go swimming _naked_?" His very tone said he was uncomfortable with the idea.

Deciding a point needed to be made, Jack pulled off his white briefs and tossed them under a nearby tree along with his shorts. Seeing that the tree had a long branch reaching out over the water, Jack climbed up its trunk and ran out on it. Planting his feet apart and standing with his hands on his naked hips, Jack called to the younger boys in the group, "Come on, then, little ones! You afraid to go swimming with the _big_ boys?" He didn't bother adding that there was a more practical consideration, too- Jack much preferred swimming naked to walking around in soaking wet underwear the rest of the day.

Jack saw the fear and awe with which the younger boys looked up at him. They might not have loved him… but every single one wanted to be like him. Jack was fast, strong, fierce when he wanted to be and kind and generous if he chose. To the younger cadets, whether they themselves knew it or not, he was a giant. They _all_ wanted to be like Jack.

"You guys stand here if you want," Roger said, dropping his pants and kicking them aside too. He headed for the water, and Jack whooped and dove off the tree branch. Delighting in the splash he made when he hit, Jack swam easily around in the water, "doing the bullfrog" as Roger liked to say it. Roger was one of the only people who could make such a remark and get away with it, and he knew it. Besides, Jack liked swimming that way. It was an easy way to swim, simple to do; and it gave the girls at the pool back home a great look at him.

They stayed there for an hour- or was it two? Jack didn't care. It wasn't like he had any other priorities. And besides, throwing himself into making the best of all this leisure time kept Jack's mind off a slowly growing sense of despair.

He missed his little brother.

Michael Merridew was three years old, far younger than even Mikey. What would he do if he found out big brother was missing? What if… what if they _never_ came back? What would happen to his kid brother? No, Jack went right on doing the bullfrog. Any amount of playing games was better than thinking about that.

From down on the beach, the conch sounded. Jack, busy smoothing back his hair as he popped up in some shallow water, looked up, confused. "What the hell?" he said, frowning. The conch blew again, though, as if to confirm there had been no mistake. Finally, the boys halted their swimming, looking at Jack. The twins stared at him, as did Roger. Well? Their faces said.

Finally Jack had to give in. He swam over to the water's edge and climbed out, calling back to the others, "Let's go, ladies! Formation by order of the conch!" Throwing their pants and modified shorts on- some of the boys were just wearing their underwear now- the group raced back to the beach.

Ralph looked annoyed when Jack's group got there, the very last to arrive. "Reason I'm calling this assembly is, too many people are screwing around when they should be working!"

"Don't I _wish_ there was some screwing around!" Jack said wistfully. Ralph groaned inside; typical of Jack to say that.

"I mean there's a bunch of things!" Ralph went on, ignoring Jack's comment. "Some kids don't even know when to use the _bathroom_!"

Sitting up in a nearby tree, Tony grinned like a cat with canary feathers on its face. "Yeah. There's this one kid, he took a shit in his pants and then sat on it! I'm not naming names because it's possible _Mikey_ couldn't help it!" Tony pointed down at the smallest cadet, standing next to the twins.

Laughter and teasing followed; Mikey didn't dare mention Roger had caught him alone when he'd been trying to go that morning, and told him to stand there until he went in his pants. Mikey had stood at attention for close to an hour, sweating and straining as he tried to hold it in. But finally, his need to go had become too great; Mikey had indeed taken a shit in his pants. Then Roger had made him walk back to the others at the cove, and forced him to sit down next to Tony while the black-haired kid had been sleeping. The distinctive smell had told Tony what had happened, though Roger, making a slashing motion across his throat and grinning, had told Mikey exactly what would happen if he told anyone why.

But Roger was standing right there on the beach, laughing right along with the others. Worse, Jack stood right next to him. It was possible Jack didn't know about Roger's role in it, but if Mikey told him, Jack would just laugh it off… and then Roger would come after him. Young as he was, Mikey knew how those two got along. He just stared down and waited for it to stop.

It did stop, though not the way anyone expected. It was Piggy who finally decided he'd had enough and shouted, "Everybody shut your goddamn mouths!"

Shocked, the cadets fell silent.

"Ralph's got the conch!"

Jack looked at Piggy, a provocative look in his eyes. He patted his bare chest twice, as if to say _anytime, sweetheart_. Jack was very good at mocking people when he felt like it, and Piggy was just too inviting a target.

"We've gotta have more discipline!" Ralph said. "And more spear fishing- we've gotta have _real_ food."

"We should be hunting pigs" somebody said.

"That's all I gotta say," Ralph finished. "Anybody else want the conch?"

Immediately, a blonde kid off to the right of the crowd said, "Some jerkoff stole my pocket knife."

"Yeah, things are disappearing all over!"

"What're we gonna do with thieves when we catch 'em?"

Roger yelled, "Beat the shit out of 'em!"

A chorus of similar suggestions followed. "Smack 'em up! Smack 'em up!"

Tony yelled, "Shove their dick in the conch!"

Jack thought that one of the more novel suggestions.

"Okay, okay!" Ralph shouted. As out-of-hand as this was getting, the boys were right. Discipline had to be enforced somehow. "We can't have kids stealing. We're gonna have to have stricter rules!" he faltered, unsure of what solution to use. "Hand out demerits, I guess."

Laughter greeted that suggestion. From Jack's closest trio, which now included Luke, the lean boy with the "jarhead" haircut emulative of his Marine uncle, the laughter was loudest. Andy, almost doubling over with laughter, was incredulous. "_Demerits_? Demerits for _grand larceny_?"

"Eat shit and _die_!" Luke yelled.

"YEAH!" Jack shouted, pumping a fist in the air.

Suddenly, another of the younger boys, Peter, stepped forward, looking up at Ralph. "Sir? Are we ever going home?"

The group grew quiet again.

Ralph nodded, trying hard to reassure the boy. "As soon as they see our signal."

With the solemn conviction of all twelve-year-old boys, Peter said quietly, "Jack says we're _never_ going home."

Kneeling in front of Peter so he could look him in the eye, Ralph said soothingly, "No, you misunderstood him. That's not what he meant."

"That's _exactly_ what I meant."

Ralph looked up; Jack had his arms crossed, an arrogant sneer on his face. Yep. He'd meant it, all right.

Seeing he had Ralph's attention, Jack snapped, "There's _eight_ _million_ islands out here. Why should they find _this_ one?"

For just a moment, Ralph and Jack locked eyes. Ralph was truly angry now, and Jack was visibly pissed about something too. This isn't over, Ralph said silently, then looked back to Peter. "Don't listen to him. We _will_ be rescued, Peter. Honest."

Jack just snorted in disgust and walked away, his growing circle of followers tagging along with him. Roger stooped by Mikey before leaving, reminding him of his promise earlier that day. "If you tell anybody…." Roger whispered, "…I'll kill you." As he watched Roger, Jack and a lot of the bigger boys go, Mikey shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature outside that day. He didn't like Roger, or Jack. They seemed to think being here was an excuse to do literally everything and anything they wanted. Mikey had always thought older boys weren't supposed to be like that. He suddenly sat down and bawled, surprising Ralph and the other boys standing around. He hated Roger and Jack. He wished they'd drowned in the plane.


	8. Chapter 8- Missing in Action

**Chapter VIII- Missing In Action**

* * *

The group of boys closely following Jack now numbered some five. Along with Luke, Andy and Roger, now Will, the blonde boy who'd complained of the stolen pocket knife and Liam, easy to recognize for his flaming red hair and freckles, had joined. Jack headed down the coast of the island after the meeting broke up, carving a face- no person or thing, just a face- into an edge of rock looking over the water.

"Are you going to hunt for a pig?" Liam asked, sitting around in the sun and watching Jack with the others. "Next time, I wanna come."

"Me, too!" Andy said, as the others voiced agreement. Liam, newest in joining the group, tried to be subtle about it, but he knew the others were coming to see Jack the same way, too. They all adored him. It was like nobody among them cared what happened, as long as Jack allowed them to hang around where he was. Being with Jack's friends was a privilege; it meant you were finally running with the big dogs.

Jack just shrugged and went on carving with his hunting knife. "I don't know _what_ I'm gonna do."

Not far down the coast, Jack could see some boulders sitting in the surf, just tall enough and close enough to shore that they were an ideal place for spear-fishing. One cadet- Jack couldn't quite see who- was moving nimbly around on a boulder, makeshift spear in hand. Jack looked up at the others, sticking the knife back in his belt and pointing to the others with him. "Hey," Jack said, smirking. "You guys up for some fun?"

In just a few minutes' time they were down the coast to the spear-fishing area, where Jack could now see Sam and Eric, along with Ralph, sitting nearby as two boys looked for fish. Standing high above them, Jack, Roger and Andy began throwing rocks.

"Hey! Hey, cut that out!" the one boy said, but Jack and the others just laughed and went on throwing the rocks.

Ralph turned around suddenly and shouted up at them, "Are you guys crazy? Stop that!"

Jack threw another rock and shrugged, turning to leave. Andy and Roger imitated him, throwing one final rock and walking away. Down below them, as Jack's compatriots turned away, Roger heard one of the twins say, "Do you know why Jack got sent to military school?"

Roger caught up to Jack soon after and said quietly, "Those kids are talking about you, boss."

Jack flashed a grin; he appreciated Roger keeping alert, always letting him know what he needed to. But there wasn't a problem here. "So?" Jack said, shrugging. "Let 'em talk. Just shows how interested everybody is in me." He patted his shortened pants again as he walked away. "Everybody wants to get in these, Roge- _everybody_."

Roger just shook his head, smiling a little. Jack could have a really one-track mind, and his opinion of himself in all things, especially his good looks and sex appeal, ran extremely high. But Roger wasn't about to disagree. Jack was far from ugly, and if he wanted to think that, then so be it. Even so, Roger made a mental note to perhaps 'speak' with the twins later, especially if there was a repeat incident. Nobody gossiped about Jack. Not on his watch. Jack was the head man, the boss. He deserved better than that.

As it happened, the twins were talking about Jack, but it wasn't out of the kind of interest Jack imagined. Had Jack been there to hear them relay the story of how Jack had stolen a car and taken it on the high way, eventually being arrested by the highway patrol after reaching 80 miles per hour… he'd have just laughed. Jack would have thought the whole thing hilarious. Whether they loved or hated him, nobody could ever get quite enough of Jack. He was one of the most talked-about boys in Davidson, and he liked it that way.

Sitting up on firewatch on the hilltop that night, Liam and three other boys prodded the fire now and then, or added a few sticks to keep it going.

"Do you know what time it is?" one boy asked.

Liam, in charge if only because of his new status as an associate of Jack's, replied, "What difference does it make?"

"Well," the cadet said wistfully, "if I knew that, I'd know what's on TV." He paused. "I'm not even sure what day it is."

"It's Monday", Liam said. He'd been keeping track. Why he had no idea.

"You sure?" the boy asked.

"I'm sure."

Suddenly, the cadet realised. "Monday… Monday's Parks' Town!"

Liam shook his head. That couldn't be right. "Yeah, but that comes on at 8 o'clock! It's gotta be later than that now."

The boy was certain, though. "We're probably in a different time zone. It's eight o'clock somewhere."

Nodding to himself, the boy said, "Yeah. And somewhere, I bet Parks is causing some trouble, right now." He smiled at the thought. Somehow, guessing at what day of the week it was and what TV show was on made him feel a little closer to home.

Not far away, lying alone in the tall grass, Jack stared up at the stars. His own words from that afternoon echoed in his ears; "I don't know what I'm gonna do." Had he been talking about more than just that day when he said that? He'd said it simply, with a shrug as he most always did. Yet… he was still asking. "What am I gonna do?" Jack asked aloud, finding he had no answer.

Briefly, Jack thought of Roger- he could always go to Roger about these things. Roger was smart and clever, and he only offered the benefit of his smarts to people he liked. Jack was one of the only people he liked at Davidson, but Jack couldn't say quite why. The two got along, yes; they were much alike. It was only natural. Yet there were moments between them where Jack felt there had to be more to it than that.

It was almost as if… Roger understood Jack better than _Jack_ did. Like he'd seen something in Jack, seen the greatness he was one day sure to achieve… and rather than doing what most did- fighting against that out of some useless sense of egotism- he had signed on to be the Number Two man to the big-shot. Was there anything wrong with that?

So if Roger was such a good friend- and he _was_, Jack firmly told himself- why wasn't Jack talking with him now? Roger was asleep on the beach and Jack hadn't wanted to wake him. That was why. Well… Jack supposed there were times when he simply had to do some thinking alone. Ralph and Piggy, guys like them, no doubt were very smug in their sureness that a "live fast, live hard" type like Jack lacked the capacity to even engage in such thought. The lean blonde knew he didn't do much to discourage that thinking. It was an impression he liked to cultivate; that way nobody would ever suspect he was doing any 'deep' thinking, nor would they ever look for him out here in the grass. Jack was an intensely private person at his most serious moments, somebody who deeply feared embarrassment and as a result rarely placed real trust in others.

Except Michael, he thought.

And Roger.

Jack fell asleep in the tall grass after a time, his eyes gradually closing as he stared up at the stars. His last thought was of that phrase the military used. MIA- Missing In Action. Odds were that's all he was to anybody now. Missing, soon to be presumed dead. It wasn't a cheering thought.

But Jack hadn't been entirely correct when he'd left Roger asleep on the beach; Roger had been resting, but he could be awakened easily, by the slightest movement or sound. He just made a point of never giving himself away. Jumping up as soon as the first kid stepped on a twig was a great way to get eaten by a panther someday. Besides… he knew Jack well. When Jack got up like that in the middle of the night, it was because something was bothering him. And Roger figured Jack was just the type who'd go to a place like the grassy hilltop. It just seemed like something he'd do.

So Roger wasn't much surprised when he found Jack there, about twenty minutes after he'd fallen asleep. Jack could sleep like a baby sometimes; contrary to Roger's constant state of vigilance, Jack tended to just go out like a light when he wasn't thinking about it. And at times like this, when his mind was far away on other things, Jack's alertness gave way just a little more. He didn't like to acknowledge that he almost needed Roger to cover his back in such moments, and Roger never mentioned it. But he knew what would need to be done.

When Roger came up the hill before dawn the next morning, he made a show of acting like he'd had no idea Jack was up here, and Jack affected not to notice. But he was grateful Roger and not Piggy or Ralph had been the one to find he'd slept clean through his hour-long shift on firewatch duty. It was bad enough being MIA without pains in the ass like them making it worse. Their rules, their laws, their stupid code- didn't they realise not one bit of it existed anymore? That not a single ounce of it mattered?


	9. Chapter 9- Loss of an Officer

**Chapter IX- Loss of an Officer**

* * *

The morning of their fourth day on the island saw a few of the boys out on the beach, swimming in the water. Simon, sitting back on the sand, was content to watch them as the sun rose above the Pacific. The chameleon he'd won over a few days ago was with him still, perched on Simon's right arm and crawling about. It seemed to trust Simon completely.

Later in the morning, once the sun was up, Simon went walking in the jungle again. This time, after about ten minutes, he heard voices. It was Jack, and the growing circle of boys who seemed determined to go everywhere he went and do everything he did. Simon recognized but did not understand such clannish thinking; who did it ultimately benefit besides Jack, the lone individual?

"We gotta have strategy," Liam was saying. "You know, trick 'em."

"Oh, sure," Andy scoffed back. "So how are we supposed to do that?"

As Simon stepped into the clearing, he saw all the boys had taken long, sturdy sticks or branches, and using an assortment of knives were sharpening the forward ends.

"You just smoke 'em out," Jack said. "You have to crawl up, light a little fire."

"We have to practice on stuff that moves," Roger said, turning his spear towards Simon, who stood at the edge of the clearing with the lizard still perched on one raised arm. Deftly, before Simon could do anything about it, Roger swept the chameleon off Simon's arm and pinned it on the ground, stabbing the spear through it at the centre. He looked down at the struggling, dying creature and then back up at Simon, grinning.

Simon picked up the chameleon and backed slowly out of the clearing. They'd seen it, all of them. Even Jack. They hadn't done a thing about it. But his quiet, saddened look of shock was most saved for Peter, one of the smaller boys who now stood in Jack's group routinely. Peter just shook his head, a little sadly. Simon understood what that had meant right away. Peter was wavering in his loyalty, and his sad shake of the head was telling Simon, "Sorry. I've chosen my camp, and it's not yours. Better to be with Jack than against him." Simon was dismayed at the very thought. Was that really where things were headed? Was there just no other way than reinventing politics and perhaps even warfare on an island big enough for everybody? Simon didn't stay around to ask this lot. Whoever these "hunters" were, Simon didn't like them. He turned and fled, taking the dying chameleon with him.

Simon buried it close to the pool where he'd found it four days ago, just thirty minutes later. The creature's death saddened him deeply. Simon could never tolerate wanton destruction, cruelty with no reason or point. Suddenly Simon was very afraid. A few tears fell as he looked down on the patch of moist earth, and into the silence he said, "Tell me how this ends." Simon wondered if he'd ever get an answer… and realised he was afraid of the one he might get.

As Simon left the clearing, Jack and his group stared after him for a few moments. Then Jack returned to sharpening his spear.

"When should we do it?" Liam said, picking up where he'd left off. "I mean, what time'a day?"

"You always go right before dawn," Jack said casually as he continued scraping off wood with the hunting knife. He was pleased at the progress he was making; soon the spear he had would be more than sharp enough to kill. "You go before dawn," Jack continued, "you can catch 'em asleep that way."

Suddenly, there was a rustling off in the bushes. Snuffling, heavy breathing. The pig! Jack raced off to his left, the others excitedly following suit. For ten feet they raced headlong through the jungle, broke through some foliage- and everybody piled up behind Jack, who was staring down at Captain Benson. The pilot, dizzy and sick, had somehow stumbled all the way up here. He looked up at the boys, staring around curiously, but didn't seem to recognize any of them. "Simon!" Jack called. The irony of calling for the kid whose pet Roger had just killed never occurred to Jack; he just knew Simon was smart, and was the only one who seemed able to calm the no-doubt-dying pilot in any way.

In time Simon came, though he wasn't happy about it. The delirious pilot was returned to his shelter on the beach; aside from a bed of leaves beneath a tree, some mosquito netting had washed ashore and was being used to cover him from the bugs. That was all the cadets could do; nobody could even get him very much water, was few items existed in which to carry it, and taking Captain Benson there wasn't an option. Nobody knew if the man's illness, whatever it was, was contagious- nobody wanted to risk it.

It was the end of their fourth day on the island. Simon was remarkable in his status as a neutral amongst the slowly-growing- but publicly unrecognized- divide between Jack's followers and Ralph's. Simon just did what was needed of him, and nothing else. Right now, that was keeping watch over Captain Benson; even the curly-haired boy with the green eyes didn't understand why the others were so sure he was best able to look after the pilot. As far as he could tell, Simon didn't have any special talents the others didn't. Except, perhaps, for some vague calming effect his presence seemed to have on the likely-dying Captain.

In the light of a fire set by the beach, Simon kept watch over Benson, saying nothing and paying no attention to the older boys' conversation nearby. If his being near Benson somehow calmed the man, at least made his suffering a little less for a time, then that was where Simon's priority was. There just wasn't any question about it.

Simon thought it very strange, though… whatever calming presence his own presence had on Captain Benson in his delirium, Jack and Roger seemed if anything the opposite. It was nothing you could put your finger on; nothing like that. And yet, the pilot just seemed… less calm, at least, when either of the two older boys stood near him. His headache grew a tiny bit worse, his sleep a little more fitful. And oddest of all was the fact that Jack had saved him from the sinking airliner, risking his own life in the process; everyone had seen him do it. The more Simon thought about it, the more questions he found answers to, the more those answers simply conceived more questions.

It was all so very strange, and Benson was the only one who could offer any insight at all. Every one of the cadets seemed to believe Simon some kind of thinker or genius; he thought it was all nonsense. He just thought about everything twice, looked for the hidden meaning in everything and everyone. There was no big secret in Simon's approach to life besides that. Not as far as Simon himself was concerned.

At the edge of the cove's camp, the older boys talked, trying to keep their voices down.

"Simon can't be watching him every second of the day," Ralph said.

Liam shrugged, unsure of what else to say. "Well, he's scared of everyone else." He didn't dare add that the man seemed particularly scared of Roger and Jack.

Charlie added, "Hell, I'm _scared_ of him. And he's spooking the little guys. Somebody's gotta do something."

"Maybe we should tie him down so he can't move," Liam suggested.

Jack took a harsher tone in his suggestion. "Yeah, either that or we get rid of him."

Ralph rejected that one without a moment's thought. "Come on. He's hurt bad and he's got a fever. We've _gotta_ take care of him."

Jack scoffed. "Why _bother_? He ain't gonna make it."

The look Ralph gave the blonde then showed his disgust at those words, even in the dark. Jack just sneered right back, throwing the gesture back in Ralph's face. To him, there was no other way about it. "We've _gotta_ take care of _ourselves_."

That night, for reasons as unknown to one boy in camp as the next, Captain Benson rose from the resting place the cadets had set up for him. He stared about in the dark, as if searching for something… then stumbled through a gap in the groups of sleeping cadets, vanishing into the dark. No one could account for his absence the next morning.

It was Simon who suggested they organise a search party on the fifth day since their arrival; he was the one who most believed the disoriented pilot could still be found. Jack thought the whole thing ridiculous, but any outing with his hunters was a good one. He saw to it the search began within an hour of sunrise; Jack even tolerated Piggy and Ralph coming along. He considered that quite generous on his part.

For over an hour they marched slowly through the jungle, spread out and with their eyes and ears alert. If the man was out there somewhere, the boys were resolved to find him. Simon, taking point, called out again and again, hoping to hear some kind of response. Any kind, really, beyond the buzzing and chattering of the dozens if not hundreds of tropical insects.

"Captain! Captain Benson!"

"Captain!"

"Captain _Benson_!"

Simon kept it up until he lost count of how many times he'd repeated those words. After thirty minutes more of it, Jack just sighed in irritation. This was turning out to be another waste of time, all because somebody had to get all 'compassionate'. What a waste of time. The man was dead, odds were. "Save your breath, man," Jack said, but Ralph argued, "He's gotta be around here somewhere. How far could he have gone?"

Finally, down on the rocks where the boys would go spear-fishing, Simon saw something. Climbing nimbly down around and over the many rocks and boulders, he got to where the stuff seen from up higher was lying; it was close to the sea, the incoming waves threatening to wash whatever it was away.

The other boys got closer and saw what was lying there on the rocks- the pilot's pants. Oh, even Ralph thought, that's it. The man's a goner.

"It's nobody's fault," he said, trying to reassure Simon. "He just didn't know what he was doing."

But Simon shook his head. "I don't think it's what you think it is. I don't think he's dead."

"Why not?" Ralph asked. Even he was having a hard time seeing around this one.

"Where are his shoes? We've gotta keep looking."

Ralph wasn't sure how to say it. "He just swam out in 'em."

Now Simon noticed something else about the airline trousers he was holding, and looked back up at Ralph, truly skeptical. "And his _belt_? He left his pants and swam out in his shoes and _belt_?"

Ralph sighed. There was just no swaying Simon on these things. He never gave up on anybody, never abandoned hope if he thought even a sliver of it was left. It was an admirable quality, but sometimes Ralph wished Simon had a little of Jack's harsh pragmatism, too. Some things you just had to face.

"He was crazy, Simon."

Even Jack and the others beside him seemed unsure of what to say. Muttering their own quiet prayers for the Captain's soul, they headed back up the rocky hill and back into the jungle. Finally, however reluctantly, Ralph turned too. Simon did not follow.

Late that night, Simon sat up on the hilltop, as much to be alone with his thoughts as to keep the fire going. Five days; they'd been here five days. No sign if impending rescue had come in close to a full week; no sign at all. The cadets were holding up well enough; no sickness, serious injuries, or deaths. But how much longer could such luck last? Simon wondered. They'd been very fortunate so far; Jack's inexplicable act of courage had perhaps only delayed the demise of Captain Benson, but no one could have known that. And he had saved the twins, who were alive and well yet. Yes, thanks to some quick-thinking and more than a couple acts of selfless or cool-headed conduct, all the boys were alive and well after five days on the island.

How much longer would this fortunate peace hold?


	10. Chapter 10- The First Hunters

**Chapter X- The First Hunters**

* * *

By two hours after sunrise on day six, Jack was guiding most of the boys, Ralph included, on an armed expedition into the jungle. There was at least the one pig out there- if it could be caught and killed, who knew how long the meat it provided would last.

Jack clutched the spear with both hands, his sharp eyes scanning the jungle in a Z pattern. His bare feet made no noise as he advanced downhill across the moist earth. If that swine was out there this morning, it would be Jack's dinner by nightfall.

A grunting, panicked squeal- the pig! Shouts of excitement came from all directions, and Jack sprinted forward as he prepared to ram home the killing blow. But it was Roger, standing above the pig's chosen path of retreat, who made the most daring move. He jumped for the swine as it fled, meaning to plunge his hunting knife into its back or better yet, its heart.

Jack caught up to him as the others did, his disappointment at the pig's escape somewhat ignored out of concern for his friend. Roger was still crouched where he'd landed, clutching his head with one hand.

Jack knelt and stood him up, visibly worried. "Roge, you okay, man? That was some jump."

Roger grimaced, holding his forehead. "Got him… right up his ass."

A pause; suddenly the twins turned to each other and yelled joyously, "_Up the ass_!"

Suddenly Will dropped on all fours and began scampering back up the hill, grunting and oinking as he went. Liam, Andy, and the twins chased after him, poking at the buzz-cut blonde's rear with their hunting spears. The twins got a little too aggressive about it, though, so suddenly Will yelled, "Hey, come on, cut it out!"

He stood up, and as he walked back down to Jack and the others, glared at the twins. "You dorks. That _hurt_!"

Sam and Eric just laughed. "I _know_ it hurt!"

Will stopped short, though, frowning as he looked down to where Jack and Roger were. Seeing him frowning, Ralph turned and frowned too. What was going on here?

Roger was sitting on his knees, hands folded in front of him, looking for all the world like an unquestioningly obedient- albeit very out-of-place- Sunday School child. He was gazing quietly at Jack, who knelt before Roger, the hunting knife that had wounded the pig in hand. Running his finger along the blade, Jack held out his hand.

The others watched in silence as he traced a line of blood, in the shape of a downward V, down Roger's face, then his own. They all caught the meaning immediately; war paint. Roger and Jack were hunters now, in form as well as in spirit.

That night, Jack sat quietly with the others around the fire. For once, he seemed deep in thought, having little to say. Roger said nothing, busily sharpening his hunting spear, taking a quiet pride in the honour bestowed on him by Jack that day. In his own mind, Roger was turning away from calling Jack "boss". Today, the new term was a much more fitting one: Chief.


	11. Chapter 11- The New Way

**Chapter XI- The New Way**

* * *

Day seven. Jack and his hunters, growing slowly in number by the day it seemed, headed out before dawn. They were eager to take more than just a little blood today.

On the beach, Ralph and a handful of others were returning to their base camp at the cove, a set of big shells in hand that, at need, could serve as cups in which to carry water. Mikey and another little one were some of Ralph's most loyal companions besides Piggy; it heartened Ralph that at least some of the smaller boys were able to see past the pushy, loud-mouthed appeal Jack had for so many. Mikey hadn't even hesitated in staying back on the beach with Ralph; it was obvious he didn't like Jack much.

"I've been thinking about a clock," Piggy thought aloud. "We could make a clock."

Ralph laughed a little. "Yeah, sure, Piggy- then a TV!"

"No, really- we could make a sundial with a stick in the ground!" Piggy insisted.

"What's that noise?" one of the little boys said.

Ralph and the others stopped. A distant buzzing, but very different from the bugs and insects they'd all heard before, and by now grown used to.

A mechanical buzzing. From high in the air.

Fanning out over the beach, trying to spot the source of the sound, Ralph and the others soon saw it.

A helicopter, a tan-green in colour, was flying low over the water, at least a thousand yards offshore from the cove.

Right where the Learjet had crashed.

Instantly Ralph and the other four boys began shouting and waving their arms, the shells and their water thrown aside and forgotten. "Hey, hey! Over here!" Each of them shouted, but the effort was useless. At the distance they were from each other, the Marines onboard the helicopter would have been hard-pressed to spot the boys in the cove, had they even been looking over there. And as for the sound? There was no chance. The distant buzzing of the helicopter for Ralph and the boys was, to the pilots, a thunderous roar. They heard nothing and flew on, oblivious to the frantic shouts for help off to their port side.

It took Ralph some five minutes to reach the hilltop; it was the fastest mile he'd ever run in his life. His lungs burned and his legs seared with fire, but none of it mattered. If he could just get up there fast enough, if Jack had only thought to leave a boy or two and keep the fire going…

When Ralph got up there, when his frantic race to the hilltop finally ended… it was obvious the fire had died out hours ago. There wasn't even enough left to send up the faintest wisps of smoke.

Jumping up and down, waving his arms as broadly as he could, Ralph made himself as obvious a feature as possible on the hilltop. "Over here! Over here!" he screamed, yelling as loudly as his lungs and throat would allow. Perhaps the Marine pilots would have seen him then, had the fire been burning. The dark smoke against the blue sky would have, perhaps, given them cause to take a closer look.

But there was no fire, and no smoke. The helicopter flew on, fading into the distance. Before long even the buzzing sound of its rotor blades chopping through the air became a memory.

Ralph soon gave up the effort. It didn't matter. But he knew something that did; as Ralph slowly retraced his steps and returned to the beach, anger steadily built up inside him. It was directed at one name, at the inattentiveness and poor foresight of just one person.

Ralph kicked a rock as he passed it, sending it shooting off the cliff's edge.

Damn him.

The 'blooded' hunters, whose first kill had been scored that morning, now included Will, Liam, Andy, and Charlie as well as Roger and Jack. Their faces decorated with war-paint and deadly-sharp spears in hand, all six boys now glared at Ralph together as they sat on rocks in the cove.

Ralph walked towards them, trembling with indignant rage. "If you guys hadn't let the goddamn fire go out, they would've _seen_ it!"

Jack looked like he regretted his error, but only a little. And true to his usual nature, Jack had already resolved to hide it. Perhaps alone he'd have admitted it, but not here. Never here, in front of the hunters, his tribe. "Hey, man, we were hunting," he said, as if that explained everything. To Jack it probably did.

The dark-haired boy standing over Jack didn't even bother to hide his disgust. "Great," he said dismissively, "you killed a pig! Face it, Jack- you fucked up!"

Anger flared into life within Jack. That was about enough. He was done with this playing around. Jumping up, Jack shoved at Ralph and screamed. "_Back off_, man! I'm sick of your shit and so's my gang!"

Ralph stared, angry and surprised. "_Your_ gang? What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Jack was furious and getting angrier by the second. For the first time in his life, he gave serious thought to killing somebody. It crossed Jack's mind to simply spear Ralph in the gut right then and there, just leave him to flop and squirm and bleed his life away on the beach.

He almost did it.

Jack jabbed a finger into Ralph's chest, shouting, "What it means, _Colonel_, is if you know what's good for you you'll _stop_ trying to run everything!"

Jack shoved Ralph again, and this time the younger boy pushed back. Both were furious with one another, and it was obvious already things would not be the same at the end of today. The Davidson chain of command counted for little on this nameless island.

"Stop it!" Piggy ran forward and got in between the two leaders, determined to break up the fighting before it could go much farther.

Jack just laughed and threw Piggy aside; the tall, lean boy had always been stronger than most his age, and pushing Piggy down was nothing. Ralph turned and helped Piggy stand again, but Jack had his mind elsewhere already.

"I'm sick of all this _shit_!" Jack spat, looking around him. "I'm gonna make a _new_ camp, for hunters! And guys who wanna have a little fun!"

"Yeah!" a chorus of boys answered him.

Secession? Breaking away over a forgotten signal fire and a brief shoving match? Even now Ralph saw that was too much. Jack had made a mistake, but perhaps Ralph had too in confronting him this way. Jack always had been touchy about his pride.

Making an effort at changing his tack, trying some form of reconciliation, Ralph said, "Come on, Jack, that's _crazy_! We've _gotta_ work together!" Gently, he asked, "Come on. Whaddya say?"

'

Jack didn't even wait a second in answering.

"I say _fuck_ you!"

Jack turned to his hunters and motioned for them to lift up the body of the pig. Time to move out.

"Come on," Jack said, "let's get outta this kindergarten."

At least seven boys followed as Jack walked away; suddenly, one of the boys sitting on the sidelines in a tree jumped down, running to catch up. "I'm with ya, Jack!" the boy called.

At this Jack did look behind him, a smile on his grimy face. "Right on, Larry!"

Ultimately, Ralph counted Jack to be taking eight others with him. The fact that he held that much sway within seven days was not encouraging for how the next seven would go.

Jack turned to Ralph and the twelve boys standing beside him, hiding his surprise over the fact that twelve included Simon, Peter, and the twins. He'd expected at least one of those four to join him. But Jack shouted back a parting message to the other boys before turning away again: "When the rest of you grow up or get hungry enough, you can come join up, too!"

The strong winds of a powerful tropical storm, still just building some distance off, struck the island that night. While there was no rain and the winds never surpassed 40 miles an hour, it was more than enough to make quite a mess of the cove, and indeed all the island. A number of trees fell, and Jack's first night as leader of a new tribe was a rough one. After a long, frantic dash inland in search of shelter- the hunters had fled in such a hurry they ditched the pig at the base of the cliff leading up to the grassy hill- Jack had finally located one.

There were a tiny few caves here and there on the island, and one, sitting close by one of the creeks, looked like a gift from Heaven to Jack. "Inside!" he yelled, pointing with his spear. The others followed him into the cave in short order; there was more than enough space for them to flee safely in and out of the harsh winds of the storm. Letting the other boys go to bed and get the rest he knew they needed, Jack sat up and listened to the winds howl outside, rushing through the trees. Instinctively Jack wondered where Ralph and his lot were, and how things were going for them on the all-too-open beach at the cove.

Then Jack realised he didn't care.


	12. Chapter 12- The Beast

**Chapter XII- The Beast**

* * *

It was morning on the eighth day on the island; Jack got the boys up and moving early, armed with their spears and eager for another kill. They didn't much concern themselves with the pig on the beach; it wasn't like Ralph would know what to do with it. And besides- if Jack did come back for the pig and find Ralph's clan had stolen it, there'd be war. Jack was pretty sure Ralph knew that, too.

Jack moved through the jungle silently, his eyes and ears missing nothing. If there was a swine to be killed today, he would find it. Roger moved with equal stealth behind him, and third in the loose file was a younger boy, Steve, who had proved himself at least quiet enough to accompany the lead hunters. Suddenly, Steve spotted movement off to his left; a pig?

The lizard was big, at least two feet long, almost seeming to drag itself along the jungle floor rather than walk. It was heading uphill. Steve started to follow it, not sure of why beyond some basic curiosity at where it was going. If Jack and Roger noticed him breaking away, they obviously didn't care. Steve soon saw the lizard make its way further up the hill, pass between some rocks and disappear. There was a dark space between the rocks, and as Steve got closer he could see it was another cave, this one set in the side of the hill. It was dark inside… Steve wasn't sure what was in there. They hunters had been lucky the cave they'd chosen last night was uninhabited; this one might not be.

Much like the cave the hunters had sheltered in the previous night, the hillside cave was bigger than it appeared to be at first glance. Bats hung from the ceiling in clusters of four or five, some opening their beady eyes to stare down at Steve as he walked nervously inside. The light of the entrance did not reach as far as it should have; the cave jinked sharply off to the left some four or five feet in. Steve's fear only deepened when he began making his way fully into the dark. He was curiously certain he wasn't alone.

A dark shape rose up from the floor of the cave, lumbering clumsily at the form of Steve, outlined in the light from the entrance. "Grah!" the thing grunted, grabbing at him, trying to pull him down. Steve screamed in a panic, pushed and fought free, then rammed his spear home where he guessed the creature was. Still screaming, Steve turned and bolted from the cave, down the hill and off to the beach below the cliffs, all dignity forgotten. He didn't know what was in that cave, and he didn't care. Let Jack mock him for his cowardice, as the older boy no doubt would. Let him punish Steve for it however he liked. It was better than facing that thing, the monster in the dark.

Roger didn't believe him.

"Jack's up on the hill, trying to get the fire started," Roger said when Steve demanded to see the leader of the group. "It could take hours; we don't have Piggy's glasses."

"I gotta see him!" Steve insisted, and finally Roger gave up. Calling up to the boys keeping watch above, Roger told them to get their new chief. Roger just looked back at Steve as they went to find Jack, the look on his face saying "This better be good".

Jack wasn't long in coming; he came striding down the ramp-like slope in the cliff that led down to the beach just a few minutes later, spear in hand and an expression of real annoyance on his face. "What's this dumb shit I hear about a monster?" Jack asked, looking disgusted at the very idea of one of the younger boys wasting his time with such childishness. He stopped a few feet from Steve, shaking his head. "We're gonna have to send you back to kindergarten."

But Steve was adamant. "I'm serious!" he said, still panting from his long run back to the beach.

Now Jack turned sarcastic. "Okay, what _kind_ of monster? Did it have fur and poison fangs, or long slimy tentacles?"

"It growled when it came out at me! And it's mouth, it was wet." Steve didn't know what else he could add. He'd been there; he'd seen it. How much could he really say?

Luke said reflectively, "Maybe it was a bear."

"Sounds more like a reptile," Andy added.

"Sounds more like a _bullshit_," Jack spat.

But he told everyone to gather and get ready; an armed expedition would return to the hillside cave. All nine hunters stood at the base of the hill fifteen minutes later, guided to the spot by a reluctant Steve. Telling the others to stay there, Jack advanced up the hill, taking only Roger with him. To their surprise, they felt uneasy too; the sound of heavy, labored breathing echoed from within the cave. Amplified by the damp walls, the sound of the sleeping thing was quite intimidating. Jack gripped his spear tight as he approached the entrance; his eyes stared wildly into the dark. What was in there?

Jack glanced behind him as the other seven hunters fled to a safer distance, some twenty feet back from the hill. They could tell something was in there, all right. The fear was contagious; when Jack and Roger glanced at one another, it was clear they were no less afraid. They were ready to bolt, too. And then Jack shook his head, backing away; suddenly he wasn't thinking about bugging out anymore, but doing it. Leaping and bounding in their haste to get away, Roger and Jack joined up with the others in moments. Facing back towards the hill again, looking to where he could just see the entrance of the cave, Jack said, "Yeah, we heard it all right. Whatever it was, it's up there."

The blonde turned to the thirteen-year-old Steve, standing nearby. "So you _weren't_ making up some kindergarten bullshit," Jack said, looking faintly impressed. "One for you, man." He thumped Steve on the chest hard and walked away, headed back towards the beach. Steve's instinct to wince at being hit by someone so strong was forgotten quickly; Jack believed him now, at least this time. He'd gone up a notch.

Tony was seriously wavering about staying with Ralph's camp by the time he was sent up the hill to be on firewatch that afternoon. This was halfway to being Jack's territory now, anyway; they had a good thing going on the cove. What was he doing up here? Then he wasn't just thinking about Jack; the other boy on watch pointed as Roger and the hunters' leader strode up the hill from the jungle, a few sticks in hand that looked like they could be used as torches, along with the ever-present spears both of them carried. It wasn't long before Tony and the other boy were staring, wide-eyed, as Jack told them of the island's monster.

"Are you sure there was a monster?" Tony asked. He was hoping this was some kind of story.

"Positive," Jack nodded as he knelt to light the stick he carried in the fire. "We heard it growl."

"Is it close?"

Jack nodded again. "_Real_ close. Just over the big rise behind our camp."

Tony stared at the ground. "Holy shit."

Jack shrugged a little as he stood, the torch now sufficiently lit. It would last until he and Roger returned to camp, certainly. "I just thought you oughta know." Jack started heading back down the hill into the jungle, Roger silently following. "Thanks for the fire," Jack called.

As he headed downhill, Jack spotted the twins and Peter coming up. "Here come the reserves!" he called by way of greeting. As they got closer, Jack said, "Better keep on your toes tonight, cadets."

The three stared at him, curious. "What do you mean?" Peter asked.

Jack just looked at them smugly. "You'll find out."

Seeing the lit torch in his hand, Sam asked, "What are you gonna do with that?"

The lead hunter replied boastfully, "Next time we kill a pig, we're gonna have a barbecue."

It didn't even take twenty minutes of dwelling on news of this monster before Tony decided he'd had enough. Jumping up and running after where he'd seen Jack and Roger go, the black-haired boy fled firewatch and Ralph's camp at the same time. The boy he left behind was 'escorted' back to the beach soon after by Will, Andy, and a third hunter, all armed with spears. Jack had told them to make sure the little ones in Ralph's camp heard the news of the monster, and that Tony was already being treated well on the other side. Andy, as Jack figured, handled it well- not only did he return with Tony's stuff from the cove, but the second boy who'd been on firewatch ditched Ralph's camp too, taking another boy with him. Jack grinned as he got up to greet each of them; his boys would occupy the hilltop tonight. "Welcome to the other side, guys," Jack grinned, feeling a great victory had been won that day. "Now you'll see how a _real_ outfit works."


	13. Chapter 13- The Raid

**Chapter XIII- The Raid**

* * *

As the fire blazed on the hilltop that night, the hunters gathered around it and reported to Jack what else they'd gotten done. Plenty of wood had been gathered for the next day, and thanks to the storm more than a few banana-bearing trees had come within their reach. The younger boys had stripped them clean as dusk fell; they'd made their escape with blinding speed, darting back into the jungle along paths Roger had shown them. Jack made a point of rewarding them for their deeds; an extra banana was rationed out to each of them. As Jack watched the younger boys eat to their heart's content on cooked meat from the pig and bananas from the beaches, he knew he was winning their hearts fast. The younger boys hadn't eaten so well since they'd landed, and a fast way to securing anyone's loyalty in times of scarcity was to offer them a steady supply of good food.

Andy shook his head when remarking about the mission to Ralph's camp, though. "We told 'em to give us your survival knife back, Chief. We said you just forgot it when you broke off to form this camp."

Jack stared through the fire like a hawk. "So what'd they say?"

The black boy dropped his eyes a little; he was coming to sense that Jack was a harsh boss. He didn't want to have to admit he'd failed that part of the mission.

Roger wasn't going to let Andy get away with not providing an answer. "Well, out with it, then!" he commanded.

"We didn't get it." Andy said.

All eyes turned to Jack; the younger boys were suddenly eager to see if they would get to watch an older boy get punished. But Jack was looking off into the dark, where through a mile or two of grass and jungle he knew Ralph and his camp were already sleeping. "So you tried _asking_ for my knife, huh?"

Andy nodded. "Yeah."

"And they told you to shove it."

"More or less."

"Well," Jack said as he looked around at the hunters, "We're just gonna have to take it."

Jack personally chose every boy who accompanied him on the mission to raid Ralph's camp; trying to prove his loyalty and make up for his misdeed in not signing on earlier, Tony was among the most eager of the volunteers. Jack approved his coming along; turning Ralph's own against him, just as soon as possible, was definitely the way to go. Roger chose to stay back, holding command over the five remaining on the hill. Jack smirked at the even division he chose to make among his forces; Jack's hunters now numbered twelve to Ralph's nine, and he'd won three new boys only a full day after breaking off from Ralph's camp. Things were going well. And of course he was a better strategist than Ralph, keeping men stationed at home even while an attack was being staged. It wasn't in Jack's playbook to make mistakes like that.

The six hunters made their way onto the beach just after midnight, making absolutely certain that no one was up before they advanced. Tony had to be held back a few times, told to slow his pace or lower his spear. Jack smiled at his eagerness, though; if Tony was trying to prove his loyalty, the effort was hardly failing.

The boys' bare feet padded across the sand, making no sound that any of Ralph's camp could hear. There was not even the slightest rustle of leaves, not one snapped twig, as they climbed up onto the lowest branch of the tree the new leaf-shelter had been built under, preparing to dive down from above. Tony looked at Jack, pleading in the darkness. "Now?" he whispered.

Jack's eyes gleamed in the dark as he scanned the shelter below him; gaps in the leaves allowed him to see where nearly every one of Ralph's loyalists was in the dark. Jack's lip curled when he spotted Piggy; he made a mental note to leave some reminder of what happened to losers who got in his way. Piggy would need to be left a special, visible reminder of his foolishness tonight.

The lead hunter turned to his group, all balanced perfectly on the thick, low-lying branch. Silently mimicking a hound baying as it sighted a kill, Jack readied to leap off the tree. Then he pushed off, the others following instantly. As they leapt off the tree branch, a shrill, throaty cry split the air, awakening every member of Ralph's group. "_Ar-rooooo_!" the hunters screamed, their cries shattering the night's silence.

Ralph and the others tried to rise, but confused and disoriented, they were shoved aside and pushed down with laughable ease. "Get the knife!" Jack commanded, and Tony darted amongst them, tossing aside the conch and snatching it, then nimbly escaping Ralph's grasping fingers as he fled down the beach. Suddenly, something else gleamed in the moonlight; Jack looked down and saw Piggy struggling to put on his glasses. Laughing, Jack stabbed his spear into the left lens, hard enough to crack them badly, which was just his intention. Then, baying their wild, shrill yells to the moon, Jack and the other hunters turned and sped down the beach, sprinting away and cheering in triumph.

The raid had been a great success, their second victory of the eighth day. And it had only taken some forty-five seconds to stage the attack itself. Ignoring Ralph's outraged yells, Jack urged his hunters onward and upward, back to their camp on top of the hill. Laughing at the ease of their escape, they told Roger and the others of the raid's outcome. Roger grinned like a wolf in the fire's light; he knew he'd made the right choice, from the very start. Given the chance and with a good man behind him, Jack was the kind of person who could take over the world. Next to that, taking over the island and offing a few pitiful boys who stood in the way was _nothing_.

The following morning, Jack began a new policy- posting armed sentries at the key entry points to the hilltop. "If anybody wants to get to the fire, or our camp at the top of the hill," Jack had told them, "_I_ want to know about it first." Then he'd glared around at everybody, adding in a deadly quiet voice, "And if _anybody_ lets one of Ralph's guys up there… I'll let Roger use his imagination."

Even some of the older boys shivered at that; they had all learned to take Roger quite seriously by now. The older boy was the image of ruthlessness, and he had no sense of fair play. Jack threatening to let somebody like Roger run free with his brilliantly inventive cruelty was a scary thought, indeed.

Simon appeared along the coast late in the morning that day, making his way up to the foot of the cliffs, where three of Jack's sentries now stood. "Hey!" the boy taking point called, gesturing with his spear. "Anybody that wants to come up has to ask!" As Simon drew nearer, he noticed it was Steve, the red-and-black pattern of blood and charcoal newly drawn on his face. It was quite an honour for Steve, as was being in charge of the sentries at the chief entrance to the field of tall grass. Protecting Jack's camp like this said a lot about the kind of trust Jack was willing to place in Steve; the younger boy, for his part, was terrified of screwing up. One mistake could lose you a lot of standing with Jack, very fast.

But Simon made no effort to agitate the sentries, perhaps sensing they would be easy to provoke to violence if alarmed. "Where are the others?" he asked.

"They're hunting!"

Simon looked at Steve curiously; hadn't he been the one to find the cave the other day?

"Where's that cave you found?"

Steve just went a little pale and said nothing. He didn't even like thinking about the cave; it scared him.

"Don't you know where it is?" Simon asked.

"Yeah, but I'm not going back! I already showed Jack and the others!" Whenever he got excited or nervous, Steve tended to talk in exclamations.

"Can't you even show me where it is?" Simon said; prodding anything out of Steve was proving difficult to say the least.

Steve didn't like the idea of anyone else going up to the cave, either; he couldn't picture it ending well. "You shouldn't go there!"

Simon said gently, "I just wanna look; I've got a glowstick."

Finally, Steve raised one arm, pointing off into the woods where he knew the cave lay. "It's over there in the forest." Steve shook his head a little as Simon headed off again; if he wanted to risk his own ass like that, let him. Just like Jack liked to say; I'm nobody's babysitter.

The pig was heavy; it dangled upside down from a small tree's trunk, carried along by Jack and seven of his hunters. It was their third kill, and by Jack's count this was the ninth day they'd spent on the island. Things weren't going half bad.

Finally, they reached the point in the woods Jack had been heading for. It was the base of the hill, twenty feet from the entrance to the cave; that was as close to the monster's lair as any of them dared go. "Set it down here," he said, and the boys were plenty willing to oblige. Hauling that pig through the jungle had been difficult work. Jack swiftly took out a switchblade he'd recovered from his pack; the blade was long enough for it to double as a bayonet. Looking up at Roger, Jack said, "Sharpen a stick at both ends."

While Roger went straight to work sharpening the other end of his spear, Jack stuck his knife in the pig's neck and with remarkable speed began to cut its head off. At the sight of all the blood, the sound of all the muscle, bone and fat being cut and torn, a few of the boys turned a little green; some averted their eyes and desperately hoped they wouldn't be found out for sissies. Some, though, stared down as Jack worked, fascinated. Most people were revolted at such a sight back home; Jack, though, seemed entirely at ease. It was like none of it bothered him at all. He wasn't subtle or tactful, nor did he try to be a gentleman. But Jack knew how to get results.

Roger planted the stick in the ground, and Jack, lifting the pig's head before him, set it firmly down on top of the grounded spear. Looking towards the darkened entrance to the cave, Jack said with reverence, "This is a present for the monster."

The hunters stood there for a few moments, all staring towards the entrance of the cave. If an offering was what the monster wanted, that's what it would get. They just hoped what was given would be enough.

Then, their nerve gave out, and the hunters picked up the tree trunk and swiftly fled, carrying the now-headless body of the pig with them. They were so set on getting away from the monster's resting place that none of them ever noticed Simon, with his sharp blue eyes, sitting in a bush nearby and watching.


	14. Chapter 14- Friendly Fire

**Chapter XIV- Friendly Fire**

* * *

It was quiet in the cove. Some seven, eight, or perhaps nine were left in Ralph's camp. He didn't know exactly how many, and he didn't care. What did it matter? The way things were going, another raid or recruiting drive by Jack would probably do the old camp in anyway. One more push, and they'd all be under the Chief for good. Ralph thought the idea revolting. But what else could you do? He was taking the food, arming all his patrols and blocking access to the signal fire at the hilltop, which Ralph knew Jack wasn't bothering to keep lit during the day anymore.

"_Ar-roooo_!" Baying like a pack of hounds, Jack and a group of hunters sprinted out onto the beach, interrupting Ralph in his thoughts and startling the others. Standing up and facing them, Ralph sighed in irritation.

"Okay, Rambo, you've made your point. Whaddya want?"

Speaking more to the camp as a whole than to Ralph personally, Jack announced, "We killed a pig today! There's going to be a feast! You can all come eat with us if you want to." He looked quite pleased with himself; Ralph was sure that for Jack, such a statement was the very image of magnanimity.

Then Andy and another boy raised their spears, pumping them twice in the air. "The Chief has spoken!" they declared. Then the hunters turned and sprinted off down the beach again, yelling their shrill war-cry. "_Ar-roooo_!"

That sound; that yell they had. Ralph had heard it echoing in his ears ever since the night of the raid, and he was rapidly coming to hate it.

Worse still was what happened later on in the afternoon; Ralph came back from a trip to the pool for water, and Piggy told him the twins were gone. Nobody had seen them go up, and they hadn't said where they were going. But everybody in Ralph's camp knew where they went.

Simon was still not back that night when Ralph, Piggy, and those few still in that camp headed up to the base of the cliffs, where on the beach below Jack had a roaring fire going, and for quite some distance one could smell the cooking of the pig. Ralph, having made do for nine days with what plants and fruit he could find, found even he could scarcely resist the prospect of such good eating.

Jack was busy leading some kind of pep-rally as well, using military cadence chants they'd learned at Davidson. He was winning the hearts and minds, all right. Watching Jack shout and gesture, whipping the others up for the occasion, Ralph was almost awed. Jack was so devolved from the cadet he'd been barely more than a week ago, he didn't even look like the same person. Save for Ralph, Piggy and Simon, none of the boys did, really. The island had changed them. And while Ralph felt like he was slowly- very slowly- but surely wearing out, Jack seemed to be getting stronger. It was like the return to nature, to a life where the strongest ruled and no rules or laws existed, had benefited Jack just as it was hurting Ralph.

Like he was _feeding_ off it.

But if Jack was learning to feed off this way of life, Roger had already done that. He was different. In his case, it was like Roger had been longing for this moment, waiting for it. If he was somebody to whom rules and morals meant nothing, why would having them suddenly disappear be a _tragedy_?

Ralph, Jack, Mikey and Peter stood at the edge of the gathered circle around the fire, a little apprehensive amidst so many wild-looking boys with their spears, facial war-paint, and necklaces bearing shark's teeth. Roger looked absolutely crazy; his stare made Ralph's skin crawl. If the island was changing Jack, he didn't want to think what it was doing for Roger. Bringing out the real Roger, probably, who he really was. Who he'd always been.

Ralph wondered again where Simon was; he wasn't here, and he hadn't been at the cove. What was he doing?

When the meat started to get passed around, Jack said, "Luke- get them some meat," as he noticed the guests at his camp. Then he looked to the rival leader, a look of savage triumph dancing in his eyes.

"I _said_ I'd get meat, _didn't_ I, Ralph?" Jack looked furious at the remembered insult, but also gleeful at having made good on it. Payback was sweet if you were on the right end. "Go on," Jack said, "I want you to tell the little ones! Tell them how I made a promise and _I kept it_!"

Ralph just stared irritably as Luke brought Ralph and Piggy the promised pig meat. It was hot, only minutes off the fire; and oh, did it smell good. "You kept your promise but you don't keep the firewatch!" Ralph snapped, extremely reluctant to give Jack even one point for anything. "You think one lousy meal's worth not getting rescued?"

Ralph declared, "We've gotta be one group again!"

"I agree!" Jack nodded. "You can join _my_ camp and have all the meat you want!"

"We don't _want_ your meat!" Ralph said, annoyed. He glanced over at Piggy.

Piggy, busy enjoying his cut of the cooked pig, stared back with a guilty look on his face.

"Oh, _yeah_! Then why'd you _come_ here?" Jack taunted, disgusted at Ralph's constant belligerence, his endless insistence on taking the moral high ground just because of his stupid cadet rank.

Ralph threw his piece of the meat back towards Jack; Roger caught it easily and threw it over to the twins, who, decorated with fresh red-and-black war paint, were grateful for another piece. They just hoped Jack wouldn't decide to punish them any more for being so late to join the hunters' camp. They'd already waited all day to eat.

"We came here to try to talk some sense into you!" Ralph said, as if that was the only reason someone would do it. He tried very hard not to show that his own ravenous hunger for something besides more berries and bananas was a big part of it, too.

"You don't have the conch! It doesn't matter what _you_ say!" one of the little ones fleered.

"The conch is in our camp, where it _belongs_!" Piggy shot back.

Striding around the fire towards Piggy and Ralph, Jack shouted furiously, his voice taking on a dry, savage note. "What's the matter, _Tits_?" he taunted. "You afraid to bring it with you?"

Jack approached the two in a hurry, going straight for the pudgy boy in the glasses. "Anyway, the conch doesn't _count_ anymore, Miss Piggy-Tits!" Jack shoved Piggy, hard. Ralph smacked his arm away. "Stop that!"

But Jack just turned and screamed at Ralph now, his voice rising steadily in fury. "No one's interested in you or your _fucking_ conch! So why don't you just take your fat friend and _shove_ off?! You've had all the meat you can eat!"

Jack suddenly turned around and walked back to the hunters, snapping up his spear and calling to them. "Come on, hunters!" he cried, "Roger's the pig!"

Shouting and yelling with savage joy, the boys all chased Roger in a circle around the fire pit; Roger was content to allow this, but only because Jack said it. Had it been anyone else he'd have cheerfully cast one of the little ones in the fire, just to show his lack of amusement.

The hunters yelled and screamed, stabbing at Roger with their spears, somehow remembering to keep missing. The little ones soon got whipped up into a fury; their eyes lit up as they yelled out savage, inarticulate cries of aggression. "Gluh!" Steve yelled as he stabbed at Roger, who was scampering around the fire's edge on all fours. "Yeh, gluh! Rast!" Steve couldn't seem to even think of complete sentences right now; it was just attack, attack, attack. He had no idea what any of this meant… but he liked it.

Suddenly, Jack yelled, "Come on, hunters! Billy's the monster!"

Now the younger boy dropped down on all fours and began scampering about, the crowd of hunters still screaming and yelling, chasing him with their spears. Jack kind of liked the idea of these 'pep rallies'- the way this one was going, the boys would do anything right now. The Merridew boy had no doubt that if he suddenly ordered them to turn and kill Piggy and Ralph, they'd do it. The boys, his hunters, would do it without even the slightest hesitation. Whipped up into a crazed frenzy, even the calmest and most rational of the boys were in a killing mood right now. And Jack was in control of every bit of it.

Suddenly, Steve pulled up short in the chase, several of the boys bumping into him. Steve screamed in fear now, pointing down the beach into the dark. Then the other boys saw it, and the hot rush of excitement in their blood turned to cold fear.

Something was charging down the beach.

Charging towards them.

The monster!

Jack turned his head; whether he realised it or not, he was caught up in the hysteria of the moment too, as much as any of the boys around him. "The monster!" he exclaimed. "It's the _real_ monster! Kill it!" Jack then raised his spear and charged. Time to put an end to that threat for good!

The thing in the dark coming at them, running on both feet with a glowstick in hand, fell on the ground upon seeing the mob charging towards it. They surrounded the thing and showed no mercy; Roger rammed his spear home and Jack followed, then half a dozen of the others joined in. They stabbed it a dozen times, a score, not even seeing what it was but merely stabbing, until finally, they halted, certain it was dead.

Then somebody quietly said, "Oh, _shit_."

The circle around the thing widened, the boys backing away, breathing hard.

Jack stared, shocked beyond words. His brain seemed to have simply checked out; only his eyes refused to quit, delivering the image of the broken, bloody remains on the beach with the surf washing over them. Delivering it again and again, until finally, his brain figured it out and gave up. There was no mistake, no error in what he was seeing. Jack knew.

Simon was dead.

Lightning flashed in the distance, and moments later thunder rumbled. Jack looked up into the sky, and swore violently as he saw the powerful, dark clouds of the storm. The real storm, and not just some fast winds. Fear stole into him now, and Jack knew the party was long since over. Shouting orders to grab the cooked meat and head for the cave by the creek, Jack began sprinting up towards the signal fire at the top of the hill. The other boys pursued him closely as Jack fled the beach in a big hurry, just barely making it to the cave they'd sheltered from the first storm in before the second arrived. They fled, these fierce hunters, from their own mistake and the fierceness of the storm that suddenly announced itself as they'd discovered it. Jack fled, not even caring as he left Ralph and his few remaining followers behind.

That night, as wind howled and rain lashed the island, the hunters slept in the cave uphill from the creek, again grateful for its mere existence. Jack sat up near the entrance, so furious with himself he wanted to cry. Hating himself for being so stupid, hating himself for not even stopping to ask where Simon had gone. He'd just let himself get carried away; he'd thought like some kind of animal, a beast like the monster he'd been hoping to kill.

Jack stared out into the rain, at a loss for words or answers. They'd killed Simon, a cadet and a kid just like them. And he, Jack, had been in charge of it. What was he gonna do?

As usual, Roger had the answer. Again sensing his chief would be up, Roger quietly stepped around the sleeping little ones and sat down in the space of the entrance, shoulder to shoulder with his leader and friend. "Well," Jack said in a choked voice, "that's it, then, Roge."

Roger said quietly, "You know what we'll have to do _now_, right, Chief?"

Jack looked at Roger, slightly afraid of the answer. "What?"

Roger's eyes gleamed in the dark. "We'll have to kill them both."

The blonde stared, awed and horrified. And immediately, he knew who Roger was talking about.

"Ralph and Piggy."

"Yes. Because if we don't… if we _do_ get rescued… they'll tell everyone what we did."

Jack turned his head, staring back out into the rain again. It certainly looked that way; like it or not, that was really the only option left. "Yeah," Jack said quietly, "I guess you're right."

"You guess or you _know_?"

Jack looked back at his friend, afraid of what was coming but knowing he'd have to be strong enough to face it. "I know. You're right."

It was kind of scary, the way Roger smiled at him in the dark.


	15. Chapter 15- The New Code

**Chapter XV- The New Code**

* * *

Jack set a new set of laws swiftly into motion the next day, by his count the tenth since they'd crashed in the ocean and the flight to Japan they'd been on had abruptly come to an end. The code was simple, much of it stolen from the first set of laws written. Roger, as the executioner, carried out all sentences passed by Jack, the sole judge and juror.

At the base of the cliffs again that morning- a scout party had been unable to locate Simon's body, and the fire pit dug on the beach had been completely erased by the storm- Jack had to deal with a case of one boy who'd been found with another's pocket knife. "It isn't fair!" Peter shouted. "I never touched it!"

"Yeah, you did!" Will snapped.

Roger, standing atop a boulder beside Jack, barked, "Butt out, or _you'll_ get it too!"

Jack stared down at the younger boy, feeling small pity and showing none. This kid had been one of the very last to defect, and worse, he'd joined the hunters early on but changed his mind when the breakoff had occurred… and that made him a traitor.

"From now on, any more criminals are gonna be put on that island to starve!" Jack said, pointing at a much smaller island not far off in the distance. Some kind of boat could easily be built if that threat needed to become a promise.

He looked again at Peter, who was trembling under his iron gaze; he'd wanted to run away when they'd caught him, but Luke and Tony still held Peter's thin arms tightly. He wasn't going anywhere. Then Jack told Roger to carry out the sentence, and Roger jumped down from the boulder, raising the rope-like material he'd stripped off a tree in the jungle, shaping it into a cat 'o nine tails. Peter eyed it in genuine terror- the weapon looked all too likely to do its grim work well.

Then strong hands seized him and grabbed his arms and legs; Peter was stretched out, held above the ground with his bare back facing the sky. Roger approached, his jaw set and his face grim. Peter shut his eyes. Then the blows came, fast and hard; pain and then agony lanced up his back, and Peter screamed. Roger beat him again and again, tossing the flail harder each time; it was like the younger boys' screams of agony were fueling him, egging him on. Roger wanted to say in the boy's ear, "You're in pain; good. Let's see how much more we can get out of you."

Finally, Jack called him off, and Roger walked back over towards Jack, looking almost disappointed. Peter, finally let down by his captors, scrambled to his feet and raced over to Jack's, crying and sobbing about how sorry he was, how he'd never, ever do it again. He still didn't see what he'd done wrong- when he'd taken the pocket knife, Roger had told him Tony already knew he was just borrowing it- but was he _ever_ sorry. Finally, Jack said quietly, "That's enough." Peter backed away and hurried off to the side, whimpering in pain and clutching his searing back.

Addressing his clan, Jack said, "I'll get fire, I promise you. Tomorrow, we'll hunt again. But we'll have to be careful, because the monster could come, at any time."

The boys looked uncertain. Sam spoke up, hesitantly. "But- I thought we…"

Jack interrupted him. "No!" he suddenly felt, very strongly, the need for his hunters to go on fearing this monster. Even if it _was_ real- something Jack was quietly starting to doubt- Jack knew he'd be better off not killing it. Alive, out there and mysterious, it kept the boys united and fearful, almost like Ralph's camp had been useful for. But if suddenly both were gone, if Jack announced they had triumphed completely… well, what would they need _him_ for after that?

No. Better to keep the monster alive, lie or not.

"It could come again at _any_ time!" Jack declared. "In _any_ shape! Just when we're not ready, it could be there!"

Now their uncertainty was of a different kind. Now, the boys _did_ look afraid. That was good.

The hunters had no fire, so their gathering on the hilltop at the end of the tenth day was in the dark. It was cool on the hilltop; the storm had swept away more than Simon's body. It had taken the warm nights too, at least for now. This worsened the situation Jack and his hunters faced; they had no ability to light fires on their own. But, as they talked about it around the lifeless fire pit that night, the boys agreed on one thing: one more raid needed to go out. They'd forgotten something else at Ralph's camp.

Mikey and Pablo, who fled the beach in disorder the previous night and became separated from Ralph and Piggy, had been captured earlier that day in the woods. Faced with surrender or death, they chose to live.

Their present for being last to join Jack's camp was staying up on firewatch anyway, though there was no fire and most of the wood was still too damp. But while a group of Jack's finest headed out on their raid, for once most of the hunters went to sleep besides a skeleton crew of sentries. But even after the raiding party was long gone and the sentries had taken their posts farther down the hill, neither Pablo nor Mikey dared nod off. Roger had vanished shortly before the meeting broke up, and neither of them could tell if he was watching them from the darkness, sharpening a spear at both ends.

Piggy had been quite a sound sleeper before his arrival on the island. Now, after ten days of living under Jack's presence, Piggy was learning the soldier's rule about sleeping with one eye open. Hearing the rustling of leaves, catching blurry indications of movement outside the shelter he and Ralph stayed in, Piggy put on his glasses and sucked in a sharp breath.

There were people outside the tent. Boys; and Piggy knew right away who'd sent them.

Piggy knew he had to do something, but he was frozen in fear. These were the Night Hunters, Jack's best, strongest, and most loyal. He wasn't getting off easy this time, Piggy feared.

Shaking the boy next to him, Piggy said, "Ralph. _Wake up_!" in a voice quavering with fear.

Ralph groaned and sat up a little. "What? What is it?" he asked, hoping he'd soon be allowed to go back to sleep. Things were bad enough as it was without interruptions of what little sleep he tried to get.

"There's somebody _out_ there!" Piggy whispered.

The movement had stopped; deliberately making noise before, the hunters had gone silent now. Ralph strained for a single unusual sound, but heard nothing. "I don't hear anything."

"Just listen!" Piggy said.

Then there was another rustling of the leaves covering the shelter; Ralph sat up quickly, his heartbeat quickening. Someone was out there! Ralph tried to discern a face, but could only see the legs, torso and arms. This one, like the others, was clutching a spear. Then the boy halted, and with a quick jab of his spear tore off one of the leaves on the shelter's roof.

It was Jack.

"Come outside, Piggy!" he hissed. "Come out and we'll be easy on you."

"You have something I want, Piggy."

Then, in a flurry so rapid Ralph dropped to the sand, fearful of losing his head, every one of the hunters outside began jabbing his spear into the tent, probing and searching for the two left opposing them. Piggy grunted and squealed as he lay on his back, his eyes wide in terror. Then a hand reached in and snatched his glasses, so quick it was like they'd simply disappeared off of his face. "Hey, give 'em back!" Piggy cried.

Just as Ralph was yelling at the boys outside, "Why can't you just leave us alone?!" a boy, possibly Tony, cried triumphantly, "I've got the glasses!"

Immediately, the hunters tore excitedly at the shelter, all but demolishing it, and fled down the beach, baying their hound-like cries once more. Jack whooped and shouted with glee, louder than all the rest; he'd gotten what he wanted. He had the glasses, and with that, fire. Things were going his way once again.

Jack was in a generous mood when he got back; Pablo and Mikey only took up half the guard shifts that night instead of three-quarters. They slept hard that night once relieved, grateful to be given the chance to redeem themselves and thankful for their tribe's latest success. Mikey, the littlest of all the boys, tried hard not to imagine what would have happened had the Night Hunters failed, and Jack come back in a stormy mood. He missed Ralph; his generosity, his selflessness and the fact that he really did seem to take the ideals Davidson claimed to stand for seriously. That was Ralph, a boy who did not lie, cheat, steal, nor tolerate those who did.

It saddened Mikey to think of what it must have felt like for Ralph, having done everything right and getting nothing but misery in return. To have done exactly what the grownups would have, and then to see Jack just come along and tear it all to pieces. As he dropped off into an exhausted sleep that night, Mikey realised he still would have liked to remain loyal to Ralph. But then, today, he and Pablo had been captured. The threat had been "join or die", and Mikey, not even twelve, hadn't wanted to die. Being a loyalist could get real dangerous if the revolutionaries were clearly winning; standing by Ralph was simply not worth it anymore. Mikey just felt sorry for him.

On the morning of the tenth day, when for once Jack had simply relit the fire atop the hill and, aside from the armed sentry shifts, granted everybody a day of rest, Ralph and Piggy walked a mile along the beach to the cliff. It was the quickest way of access to hilltop in the past, and the signal fire. Jack owned all that now. As the two boys still defying Jack's rule approached, Roger shouted from above, "Halt! Who goes there!"

Will, standing beside him, let out a sharp whistle. Instantly another four boys appeared; clearly a system had been worked out for raising the alarm. A pair of fainter, more distant whistles, heading away and up the hill, told Ralph and Piggy the entire savage camp now knew they were here. Ralph could only grudgingly admire their efficiency.

But he was all business when he yelled up at Roger, "You know who we are! We've got the conch and we're calling an assembly!"

He looked around; the twins were a few feet from him, busy playing with the entrails of a dead pig, staring at Ralph and Piggy now and then, their faces wary. His eyes scanned Roger and the others. "Where's Jack?" Ralph shouted.

"What do you want _now_?"

Ralph and Piggy turned to their right, seeing the hunters' leader standing on the ramp of stone, spear in hand. It was eerie how fast he'd appeared; it was like he had done exactly that, not so much walked down there as simply… appeared. Like a thing you could summon if you knew the right words. But that thing, when summoned, had its own agenda, and was not so easily controlled as called.

"You heard what we want! We've got the conch and I'm calling an assembly!" Ralph called back.

Jack just yelled, "Why don't you two just _fuck off_? This is _my_ end and _my_ tribe; keep to your own end!"

"_You're_ the one who won't keep to your own end! Tearing up our camp and stealing Piggy's glasses! You've _got_ to give 'em back!" Ralph was shaking with indignant anger; or at least that's what he told himself. He was angry, sure; but part of Ralph was already wishing he hadn't come.

"_Got_ to?" Jack sneered, his very tone defiant. "Who says?"

"_I_ do!" Ralph said. The look Jack's face said just what he thought of that.

"If you wanted to have a fire, all you had to do was _ask_!" Ralph added.

Jack advanced on him, coming down the ramp towards Ralph. He raised his spear, shouting angrily. "I don't _have_ to ask!"

Ralph barely had time to snap up his own stick, not useable as a spear but at least able to parry blows, before Jack jabbed the spear at him, clearly aiming to harm. The two sparred viciously, Ralph frantically smacking away Jack's assaults but wondering if the next one would hit. Then Jack tried something different; he went for Ralph's hands. Smacked repeatedly by the spear, Ralph's hands glowed with pain, and suddenly the stick simply wasn't in his hands anymore. Jack grinned savagely; his boys were all around, cheering him on and wishing him victory. "Your sanctimonious bullshit won't save you _now_, Ralph- they only listen to _me_!" Jack crowed.

Left with no other options, unable to retreat, Ralph did the only thing left to him. The one thing Jack didn't expect.

Attack.

Ralph threw himself at Jack, narrowly dodging the surprised hunter's attempt at impaling him on the spear and knocking him to the ground. Unable to use the spear in close quarters, Jack threw it away and punched Ralph in the mouth; Ralph grunted as he tasted copper, but came right back. The two fought furiously, wrestling back and forth on the sand. Jack had the upper hand at first, but while he was lean and mean, Ralph was actually stronger. Jack had to roll away to keep Ralph from getting him in a headlock; when he charged at Ralph again, the dark-haired boy kicked him in the chest, knocking him back.

The horn blew; everybody, including Jack and Ralph, stopped and stared.

Piggy was holding his ground, standing firm and blowing the conch as a horn. "I've got the conch!" Piggy cried, resolved to not back away or give up this time. He was done crying; he would run from Jack and his lot no more. "Let me speak!"

"Get outta here, Piggy!" Tony jeered.

"Oink, oink!"

"Run on home 'fore we turn you inta bacon!"

The catcalls and jeers went on, and Jack just got up and sneered at Piggy, walking back to the ramp of stone and standing with his boys. Tony and Andy stood close by; besides Roger, they and Luke were now his closest lieutenants. It was a position all three boys coveted intensely.

Roger, soon joined by Will and one of the smaller boys, began throwing rocks from up on the cliff. Piggy flinched when the first ones smacked into the sand or bounced off rocks near him, but he did not back away.

Seeing Roger and the others throwing the rocks, Ralph cried, "Stop that, Roger; let Piggy speak!"

Roger just smiled.

"Please!" Piggy called, his voice rising above the booing and jeering. He had to say this, even if nobody wanted to hear it. Perhaps especially if nobody wanted to hear it. "This is _serious_!"

"What I'm saying is, if we don't get rescued, we might have to live here for a real long time! Maybe for the rest of our lives!"

"Shut up, fatass!" Tony called.

"Run all the way home, Piggy!" another boy shouted.

Ignoring them still, Piggy said, "If we _are_ stuck here till we get old, we can't go on acting like kids!"

Up on the cliff, unseen by anybody until it was far too late, Roger set down his spear and started pushing at the big, hundred-pound rock he had sitting in front of him, right on the cliff's edge.

Right over Piggy.

Ralph was just looking up as Piggy, still holding his ground in the face of more verbal mockery and insults than he'd ever faced in his life, was shouting above the noise, "We gotta be sensible and make things work!"

Ralph saw Roger; he saw the rock. Roger grunted with the effort, rolling the rock until gravity took over and did the rest…

"This is _serious_!" Piggy cried again, bravely speaking the last words he'd ever say or hear.

Then Ralph screamed. He had no time to warn Piggy, no chance to move him out of the way. There just was no time; none at all.

The rock fell in just a second's time, making an ugly, wet smack as it struck Piggy on the forehead and caved part of his skull in. It bounced away, leaving craters in the sand before coming to rest.

Piggy had dropped like a sack of potatoes, like all the strength had gone out of every muscle in his body. His arms and legs twitched once, twice. Then he was still.

The hunters had fallen silent. Even Tony stared, wide-eyed, too shocked to have anything to say. Up on the cliff, Roger and the other two boys gazed silently down at Ralph, their faces masks behind which nothing could be discerned, no part of their thoughts guessed at.

Ralph knelt and placed hand on Piggy's chest, even though he knew checking as pointless. There was no mistaking what that vacant stare, all the blood on the top of his head, could mean. Piggy was gone. Ralph looked up at Jack; even he seemed shocked at what had happened. At the very least, he was surprised- Jack could be quickly startled by things he hadn't ordered or expected. But did he feel any remorse, any guilt? Certainly not enough to change course any.

Ralph said quietly, his voice menacing in spite of his fear, "You're _not_ gonna get away with this…"

Now Jack did speak, huffing in contempt at the idea. "Yeah?" he said. "And what're you gonna do? _Huh? What're you gonna do about it?!_"

Jack bounded forward and hurled a rock at Ralph, narrowly missing him. "You're _out_ of it, pal! You're on your own!" Right away the other boys took up the effort, and a shower of rocks was soon raining down on Ralph, forcing him to flee the beach below the cliffs. Roger's aim was the sharpest; he pelted rock after rock, long after the other boys figured Ralph was out of range, grinning at the pain he was no doubt causing Ralph as he ran.


	16. Chapter 16- Cry of the Hunters

**XVI- Cry of the Hunters**

* * *

For the rest of the tenth day since their arrival on the island, Ralph was constantly on the move, hiding now from every other boy on the island. Jack had won their stomachs, their hearts, or at the very least forced them through fear into the fold. Ralph had never been so afraid; alone in the jungle, he darted from one point to another, constantly taking cover and jumping at unusual sounds. He stopped briefly at the pool of water, taking a badly-needed drink, but dared not to waste much time, even as far as he was from Jack's camp then. Ralph fled into the deepest, thickest part of the jungle, always looking behind him and never once feeling safe. He'd lost the two boys who would never have abandoned him, and ultimately he'd failed all the rest. Jack, the way things were now, owned the island. Ralph knew Jack would never negotiate, never surrender.

He was alone.

Ralph spent much of the afternoon crying softly, wondering just why he'd failed, where he'd gone wrong. He mourned the loss of Piggy, and of Simon, and wished over and over he could have them with him now. After a while, though, Ralph stopped crying. It didn't do any good. But by the time darkness came, he'd worked up his nerve again, and had something resembling a plan. He darted off towards the beach, heading for the gray cliff Jack now commanded like a fortress.

Ralph made his way up the beach, hanging close to the base of the cliffs and looking up constantly for the sign of any movement. He could see the two sentries posted at the base of the stone ramp, but even in the dark they looked too alike to be anyone else. And as Ralph crept closer, he could hear them arguing, in voices so similar it sounded like one boy conducting a very animated conversation with himself.

Ralph calmed a little, in spite of everything; Sam and Eric had simply given over to the dominant boy's sway, once it was obvious their safety in Ralph's camp would not be a given for much longer. He didn't blame them.

"Psst!" Ralph called, and both boys quieted immediately, squinting into the dark. "It's me! Ralph!"

Sam stood up, shaking his head in dismay. "You shouldn't be around here, Ralph."

"Yeah," Eric added, "the hunters are gonna come after you. And Jack had Roger sharpen a stick at both ends!"

Ralph spoke quietly, his voice grave. Even he'd heard about the _last_ present Jack had left for the monster. "If _that_ happens, it'll be because you _let_ it happen. If you don't stand up to him, you're just another one of his slaves."

The twins stared at him in the dark, wide-eyed.

"Hey!" a boy's voice barked, "Keep alert down there!"

It was Roger. A tremor of fear ran through Ralph; it was time to bug out again. With no time to say anything else, Ralph turned and darted back down he beach again, once more hugging the shadows at the base of the cliffs, trusting that if Roger _did_ see him now, by the time Roger did anything about it he'd be long gone, and would get away. _This_ time.

Day eleven, just before dawn. The Night Hunters had been busy; they'd gotten previous little sleep last night, but that didn't matter. Their leader, Roger, was elated. He'd had some good news to report to Jack- Ralph had been seen fleeing the cliffs that night; for all anybody knew he could've hidden there all day. The lapse in security didn't matter; for once, Jack didn't even care. He simply grinned and told Roger to keep that stick, sharpened at both ends, close at hand. They were gonna need it soon.

But Roger decided to go a step farther; leading the best of Jack's hunters on a trip into the jungles that night, Roger gathered enough sticks, logs, and all manner of dry wood, placing them strategically throughout the deepest parts of the jungle, places where the foliage was thickest and the fire sure to catch.

At dawn, the torches had been lit and carried to the fire-points. As the first one caught in the nearby branches and leaves, Roger grinned savagely, gazing up at the thick plume of gray smoke. "Some rats are gonna die today!" he said, so quietly only a few of the other boys could hear him. Tony, one of the boys that did, shivered.

He was _very_ glad he wasn't Ralph.

Ralph, sleeping hard after an exhausting day of running and hiding, was almost too late in realising the danger when the smell of burning jungle reached his nostrils. Opening his eyes and looking around, his pace quickened in horror when Ralph realised the jungle what was happening.

The jungle was turning gray with smoke; behind him, Ralph could see fire in the distance… and much closer than he'd have liked, Jack's hunters advancing with their spears raised, staring warily into the misty fog their fires had created.

Jack bounded from his hiding place in the hollowed-out side of a tree. He had to get out of here; how was he to have known Roger would guess his approximate location so perfectly? Running low, Ralph hoped he wouldn't be spotted. A younger boy's shout of "He's over here!" told Ralph his hopes had been dashed. He ran on.

"Yaaaah!"

Ralph didn't even turn to his left as the boy dashed out of hiding to charge at him, simply shoving the smaller boy down and sprinting away. If he stopped to fight even one of the hunters, all the rest would converge on him. He had to get away again before this one could alert anybody else.

All around him, the jungle was catching fire; Ralph ran faster, his heart pounding in his chest. Unknown to him, Jack was less than twenty feet away, sprinting to where one of his younger boys had cried out the alarm. Jack's pulse was quick, too, and he felt a savage joy, a primal sense of elation, when he reached the boy and helped him to his feet. They were close now. The end was near; Jack could feel it. Then he caught sight of Ralph, ducking under a fallen tree trunk as he fled.

"Onward, boys!" Jack shouted. "He won't get away from us now!"

Ralph ran until he didn't think he could run another step; he ran until his legs screamed for mercy and his lungs burned. Then he pulled up short, gasping as he stopped.

The pig's head was on the stick still, its mouth hanging open in a lopsided, sickening grin.

_It's not so bad, Ralph_, the head seemed to say, and Ralph began to think he was really going crazy. He imagined the voice, the sound of a thousand voices, young and old, speaking in his head at once, saying, _It's really not so bad, Ralph. Having your head cut off by your classmates; it won't be so bad. Being killed as a present for the monster, it's not so bad. Not when it's in all of you._

Ralph swayed unsteadily on his feet; this wasn't real. It couldn't be. It had to be a hallucination, and effect of breathing in too much of the smoke.

_Did you really think the beast was something one of you could hunt and kill?_ The voice cackled, and Ralph's heart stopped for a moment, feeling sheer terror for the first time. _But it doesn't matter, _the voice continued._ They won't be hunting you long…_

Ralph abruptly decided he'd had enough. He ran.

Finally, though, after just another minute of fighting through thick jungle foliage and dodging fallen logs, Ralph decided he'd gone far enough. He was more than tired, past exhausted. He was terrified and he could run no more. Ralph scurried under another fallen log and hid from the smoke, the flames, and the hunters he knew would soon be coming. It was time to wait for the end.

Roger stepped, one foot in front of the other, slowly through the smoke-filled jungle. The smoke's effect was mild, and in any case a mere annoyance, as was the fire catching here and there nearby. To Roger such distractions were meaningless. He held his spear firmly in hand; both ends were sharpened with lethal efficiency. Ten thousand angels could have danced on the narrowest points. The hunters' second-in-command wore a grim expression and said nothing, but inside he felt a savage joy. The kill was close by; he could tell, somehow, that the hunt was nearing its end. Roger could sense it. He'd looked forward to killing Ralph for a long time. It fascinated him, intrigued him, to visualize the now-former Cadet Lieutenant Colonel's head on a pike beside the pig's.

Roger wanted to know how long Ralph would be able to scream until the knife cut far enough through his neck to kill him.

Ralph spotted Roger coming on a path parallel to his hiding place; he passed no more than five feet away as a hazy cloud of smoke came between them. Had Roger just looked a little harder to his right, had that smoke not been there… Ralph quaked in terror, unashamed, as he spotted Roger pass. He might have been scared to death of Jack, but he couldn't even find a word for Roger.

Ralph didn't move from under the log, even as the flames crept within fifteen feet, then ten, of where he hid. The hunters were all around, now- there was no escape.

A rustling of leaves as one- no, two- boys pushed their way through the bushes nearby. Ralph froze, his breath catching in his throat; whoever that was, they'd see him for sure. Even hiding would be impossible to hide.

It was Sam and Eric. They halted, eyes wide and staring as they caught sight of Ralph.

Ralph stared back, not daring even to breathe. His life was in the twins' hands now.

Jack's voice, perhaps fifteen feet away; "You see anything over there?"

The twins looked back.

"No."

"Nothing."

Sam and Eric soon moved on; there was no time to say anything to Ralph with Jack and the others around. Someone must have been real sure that Ralph was close by, though, because instead of moving on by, the hunters kept sweeping the area, back and forth. Suddenly, Ralph spotted somebody off to his right- Roger! He'd circled around after passing by the first time, and was coming directly towards Ralph! The two boys locked eyes; Roger bobbed his head up and down, making sure he was really seeing Ralph and not just imagining it.

Then Roger turned his head and yelled one word.

"Jack!"

Ralph bolted out from hiding immediately, all ideas of stealth forgotten. The facts were out; the worst of Jack's group had discovered him. It was now a race for survival; a question of who could run faster.

Ralph hoped it would turn out to be him. That was the only hope he had left.

He hadn't even been running a second's time before the harsh cry came, "Get 'im!" Instantly, Ralph had at least five hunters converging on him, then ten- soon the woods seemed filled with murderous boys, all waving spears and shouting excitedly as they sighted their target. Jack and Roger were at the head of the pack, closing on Ralph faster than anyone else.

The jungle was fast becoming an inferno; in some places nothing but fire could be seen, and the smoke that filled the woods was turning dark gray. Ralph ran past flaming patches of jungle so close the flames seared his skin; the yells of the boys behind him encouraged Ralph to run faster anyhow. "Ar-_roooo_!" one boy screamed, and then they all screamed it; Ralph's blood ran cold when he realised the nearest boy to shout the hunters' war cry had been very close, perhaps as close as twelve feet away. And the cry seemed to tell the hunters, all at once, at the end was near; they had spent little of their strength today and had much running left in them. They knew Ralph wouldn't be getting away from them now.

Ralph was looking behind him so much now he barely noticed what was in front; catching a break in the rapidly-closing wall of flames, Ralph bolted for it and caught a snatch of blue. The ocean! Ralph felt like shouting for joy; he would run to the sea and keep on going. He would swim on, towards one of the other islands nearby. He knew there was almost no chance of making it; Ralph was now so tired, so close to complete and total exhaustion, swimming over a mile would be a joke.

But it was better than dying here on land. By land or by sea, death was all that waited for Ralph now. As he neared the beach, though, meaning to run headlong into the waves, Ralph turned to look behind him and tripped- ironically, on a large tuft of grass standing right where the jungle at last, grudgingly, gave way to the beach.

Ralph lost his balance completely and fell, hitting the sand hard on his right shoulder. He slid to a stop and waited for the first hunter's spear to be rammed into his body. It was over.

Suddenly Ralph looked up; there was a dark shape standing over him. It was a man, holding a flight helmet and wearing Marine captain's bars. Looking down at Ralph, he couldn't have been more stunned. Where had this kid come from?

The hunters were not long in coming; yelling and screaming, they charged recklessly out onto the beach, continuing their relentless pursuit of Ralph. Then, one by one, they saw the captain, and abruptly came to a stop. In only a minute's time they were all standing there, staring at the officer.

Jack and Roger were absolutely dumbstruck; no words or thoughts would come. This was impossible! They were gonna be marooned on this island forever; the outside world had ceased to exist. And yet it was here.

The captain looked down at Ralph, who was starting to sob, so frightened and weary he wanted to just lie down and die. Earlier, Ralph had stopped crying because it did no good. Now, he started again because there was nothing else to do. Ralph cried for innocent Simon, cried for brave Piggy, the boy who'd had such great courage at the end, yet Ralph had been too much of a coward to save. Ralph cried because he'd tried so hard, done everything just right, and failed completely anyway. He just couldn't understand any of it.

The captain looked more bewildered by the moment; seeing Ralph sobbing helplessly at his feet and these savage, grimy boys with their spears and vacant expressions, the man had no idea what to think. Finally, he asked the one question on his mind. "What're you guys doin'?"

He got no answer.

Standing amidst his hunters, his savage boys moments ago hellbent on their third murder, Jack breathed hard, stunned beyond words. He struggled to remember words, any words; Jack had to fight to even speak. At last he made it, but only briefly. "It's imp- it's imposs…" Jack just trailed off, giving up. He couldn't bring himself to say it.

The _USS Iwo Jima_ had been passing by with her battle group that day; several miles off, her escorting destroyers had seen the thick, black smoke rising into the sky from an island believed to be uninhabited. Two helicopters had been sent to find out what was there, if anything; one circled the island now, looking for anyone else. The other had landed on the beach, and a group of armed Marines stood around, fingering their M-16's and eyeing the vicious-looking, dirty boys warily. What the hell had these kids been up to?

Regardless, the captain ordered that the boys be evacuated immediately. Hard as it was to believe, he soon would confirm that these were indeed the boys who'd gone missing on the Honolulu-Okinawa flight that was now 11 days overdue and presumed lost. The descriptions and provided pictures of them barely matched up at all; when they were picked up on the beach, many of the boys were next to unrecognizable.

Ralph wouldn't get into the first helicopter. The Marines flying it tried everything, even forcing him towards it, but he just grabbed onto the skids and refused to let go. He didn't want to get on that one; he didn't want to ride out of here with Roger and Jack. Finally they gave up and decided to send him out on the landing craft that had come in as well. The other boys were loaded onto the two helicopters.

On the first helicopter, seated in the troop bay, Jack, Roger, Tony and six of the other boys rode in stunned, awkward silence. They looked at the floor, at the sky outside; anywhere but each other. None of the boys could bring themselves to do it.

Finally, Tony asked aloud in a raspy, halting voice, "What happens now?"

A full minute passed before anybody answered. It ended up being Jack, who was dimly starting to realise he had some hard times ahead of him. Two kids were _dead_ back on that island; everybody back home was gonna know that those two had gone out alive from Davidson, and everybody was gonna know that they didn't come back. It was gonna be real awkward if anybody figured out what Jack and his boys had done, what they'd just _tried_ to do…

Finally, Jack realised the boys around him needed Tony's question answered. They had no idea what was going on, any better than Jack did- but they were going to depend on him to get them out of this. He was the chief. Jack had no answers for them, not yet- so he simply said one sentence, the only words he'd speak for the rest of that day. Jack's answer, simple as it was, ended up being the best one any of the boys could come up with.

"I don't know."


End file.
